


Seek and Destroy

by Infie



Series: Mission Series 1: Manticore Missions [1]
Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cage Fights, Comrades in Arms, Friendship, Gen, Mission Fic, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-28
Updated: 2003-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infie/pseuds/Infie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>X5-494 and X5-511 are sent to destroy the weapons cache of S. al-Nassan.  Things do not go as planned... or, at least, not by the plan they thought they were following.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek and Destroy

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written fourth, following Learning of Alec, Search and Seizure, and Era's Hostile Territory.
> 
> Chronologically it occurs second in the series, after Hostile Territory and before Search and Seizure.

* * *

## Mission Brief

Code Name: Crisis Mode   
  


Assignments

External Assets: None  
 **Internal Assets:** X5-'494, X5-'511  


**Objective** : Seek and Destroy  
 **Primary Target** : Sabih al-Nassan (see attached dossier)  
 **Level of Threat** : HIGH  


**Mission Abstract**   


Proceed to Astana. Make contact with suspected arms dealer al-Nassan (see attached Dossier). Verify possession of laser-guidance bio-weaponry delivery systems. Destroy all weapons caches. Retrieve prototype. 

al-Nassan is heavily armed, and his residences are powerfully defended. A frontal assault is strongly contra-indicated. 

**Signature, Commanding Officer** : Lydecker, Donald, Colonel  


* * *

511 closed the folder. His eyes were narrowed in thought. 

"Did you have a question, 511?" Lydecker's voice made it clear that he didn't want to hear it if he did. 

"Yes, sir. Why 494? He's a solo specialist. I don't..." 

"I am aware of 494's skill set." Lydecker's voice grew even colder. "And, he has been assigned as your partner for this mission." 

511 smoothed his face into expressionlessness. "Yes, sir!" 

Lydecker rose from behind his desk and crossed to 511's side, staring at the dark-haired transgenic's profile intently. "This will be your first mission with 494?" 

511's eyes flickered. "This will be our first away mission, sir." 

"Ah, yes." Lydecker nodded in mock surprise. "494 was a member of your unit, wasn't he?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good." Lydecker stepped away, missing the dark look 511 shot him. "Then you've had experience working together." He sat back down behind his desk and picked up a stack of papers. "Dismissed." 

511 turned on his heel and made for the door. He turned as he reached it. "Sir?" 

"Yes, 511?" Lydecker asked impatiently. 

"Isn't 494 in the field right now?" 

"We've accelerated his timeframe. He'll be back in time to make your flight to Oral." Lydecker's eyebrows rose. "Anything else I can help you with?" 

"No, sir." 511 flushed at the sarcasm in the colonel's tone. He left. 

Lydecker heaved a sigh, then rubbed his forehead and picked up his phone. "Yeah," he said as the other end picked up. "Where is 494?" He waited for the answer, then gave a grim smile. "Call him in." There was a startled noise from the far side. "Yes, NOW." He hung up. 

* * *

494 slid himself through the window with a grace that pointed to the feline in his genetic heritage. There was the faintest scraping sound as his heel caught the edge of the windowpane, and he froze. 

Silence. 

He breathed a soundless sigh of relief, then finished drawing his leg through the window. Kneeling carefully, he drew out a small black cannister and sprayed the hallway with a fine mist. No refraction. Good. He stalked smoothly down the hall, testing each step for sensor plates. There were none. Excellent. 

He found the door of the target room quickly, and checked the jamb for telltales or alarm wires. There were two wires, and he quickly and efficiently disabled them, then carefully turned the knob, alert for any form of resistance that would indicate a pressure plate. There was none. He eased the door open a fraction, then checked the inside of the jamb for other wires. There was a thin copper contact just above the strike plate, and 494 shook his head. If the contact had been on the hinged side of the door, the alarm would have been tripped already. 

He snipped the lead, and pushed the door open another inch. Now there was a single additional wire. He clamped and bridged it, then slid silently through the opening. 

His target... His _paranoid_ target lay sleeping heavily on his bed. 494 let his eyes sweep the room for additional potential alarm sources, but found none that might impede his path to the bed. He drew his silenced Glock from the felt-lined holster in the small of his back, and approached the mark with gliding, soundless steps. He stopped at the side of the bed and stared intently at the target, making sure he had the right one before taking the shot. He concentrated his hearing, listening for movement nearby, potential threats that could compromise him. He heard sonorous breathing elsewhere in the house, a guard cough a floor away, and various people shuffling and moving throughout the premises. None were close enough to be an issue. He locked on his mark's heartbeat, and levelled the Glock, narrowed his focus, tensed his finger on the trigger... 

The squeal of electronic feedback as his earpiece activated pierced both his concentration and his brain. 494 gave an inarticulate groan as the sound ripped through his ultra-sensitive hearing, curling involuntarily against the pain. The mark sat bolt-upright in bed, staring at him in shock, and even as 494 brought the gun back to bear, the mark struck at him, knocking the gun away and shouting incoherently for the guards. 494 compressed his lips and punched him, but the man moved to hit the panic button, and he only managed a glancing blow. 

_{Fuck!}_

494 drew his knife from a calf sheath, flipping it into his left hand with a motion too quick to see. He pounced on the target, and in a swift motion wrapped the blanket around him to pin his arms against his sides. He threw the man flat on his stomach, then straddled him and clamped his knees against the mark's elbows to hold him still. He grabbed the target's hair in his right hand and pushed it forward, drawing the knife across his throat in a quick rip from behind. A rasping gurgle confirmed his success, and 494 gave a feral grin. 

The door exploded open behind him, and bullets rained across the room as the guards took one look at the spreading red stain on the bed and opened fire. 494 dove off the other side, using the mattress as cover. He grunted as he hit the floor more heavily than he had intended. He looked around wildly, hoping to identify an exit before one of the guards figured out that there was a space under the bed to fire through. A black hole appeared in the wall in front of him, telling him that at least one of the guards was on the ball. He scanned again, more carefully this time. Nope. No exit. 

Shit. He was going to have to go through them. 

His earpiece sparked to life again. _[494. You are being recalled. Please proceed to base immediately.]_

"Not. NOW." 494 growled. Obediently, the earpiece went dead, and 494 pulled himself into a crouch, then turned to face the bed as more holes peppered the wall. He gathered himself, then sprang over the bed, knocking two guards to the ground as he landed just inside the door. Without even pausing, he blurred full force into the remaining guards blocking the door, tossing them aside. One flailing leg caught his foot and he fell into a roll, coming up against the hallway wall with a grunt. An instant later he was on his feet and sprinting for the window. He heard the click of a hammer and flattened himself into a dive, shattering through the glass in a burst of glittering shards and gunfire. 

494 tucked into a somersault in the air, then stretched out to land on his feet in the springy grass of the lawn. He dropped to one knee with the impact, then was off again at a dead run as the lights of the house came up and the guards reached the broken second floor window and opened fire. He was over the wall of the compound and onto his waiting motorcycle in a rush. He paused long enough to take the earpiece out, giving it a long, fulminating glare before crushing under his heel and roaring into the night. 

* * *

494 took a deep breath before entering Colonel Lydecker's office for debriefing, trying to regain control of his temper. His fingers clenched on the doorknob, and he gritted his teeth as he stared at the letters of the nameplate. After a long moment, he blinked, and his face smoothed into impassive lines. He opened the door, and came to attention. 

"Sir. X5-494 reporting as ordered." 

"Come in." Lydecker's voice was just as expressionless as 494's. 

"Yes, sir." 494 stepped inside, closing the door behind him before returning to attention. Lydecker rose from his seat behind his desk and began circling the younger man. 

"Report." 

"I entered the domicile on time. I circumvented several security measures, and proceeded to the location of the target." 494's eyes were fixed on a point on the wall, and didn't waver as the colonel continued to pace around him. "I verified the identity of the target, and I was about to fire when I was squelched, sir." A fine thread of anger coloured his voice, and Lydecker pursed his lips in disapproval. "The target was alerted, and I was forced to take alternative measures." 

"Loud measures, 494. Messy measures." Lydecker told him scathingly. "On a mission that was identified as a silent op. What do you have to say for yourself?" 

"The mission was successful, sir." 494's face tightened with resentment. 

"The mission failed, 494. You alerted the guards, and you left behind evidence. The fact that the target was elminated is secondary." 494 shot him a sideways glance that Lydecker caught. "Eyes front, soldier!" 494 straightened as Lydecker continued. "A mission that is not completed in all respects is a mission that is not completed. Do I make myself clear?" 

"Yes, sir." A muscle moved in 494's jaw. 

"So, son, what have you learned from this?" The colonel raised his chin and tilted his head arrogantly, condescension in his tone. 

_{Leave the fucking earpiece at home.}_ 494 remained silent, but his eyes heated. Lydecker's lips twitched. 

"If you aren't wearing anything that will make noise, they won't hear you." Lydecker told him pointedly. He walked to his desk and picked up a blue mission folder, then turned and slapped it into 494's chest. "Here's your next mission. You're heading out in three hours." He paused, glared up into 494's angry eyes. "Next time, leave the fucking earpiece at home." 

* * *

494 strode up the stairs into the plane in a boil of motion. His face was set in hard, angry lines, and 511 sighed a little as he caught sight of him. 494 slung his duffel down from his shoulder and shoved it into the overhead compartment with unnecessary force. He slammed shut the compartment door, and glared at it in rage when it popped back open. He caught the amusement in 511's face just before he could smash it down again, and instead closed it with exaggerated care. 

511 laughed out loud. 

494's lips twitched, and he dropped into the aisle seat with athletic grace. 

"So, uh... how's it going?" 511 slid his sunglasses down his nose so he could look at 494 directly. 494 shot him a glare, but 511 could see the humour starting to return. He waved 511 to silence, then withdrew a set of headphones and a walkman from the thigh pocket of his tan cargos. 511 stared a moment longer, then shrugged and slid a packet from his own pocket. "Here you go, Dmitri." 

494 blinked at him, then flipped open the flap of the passport on the top of the stack. "Dmitri." He leaned his head back against the back of his seat, looking up at the roof of the plane balefully. He heaved a sigh. 

"What?" 511 raised an eyebrow at him before settling more comfortably in his own seat. 

"The colonel does have a sense of humour." 494 was gritting his teeth. "The mark on my last mission's name was Dmitri." He rolled his head to look at 511. "What do you think? Is he trying to tell me something?" 

"Considering that we're working this one together, I sure hope not." 511 looked at his own passport. "Viktor, huh? Hmm. I kinda like Viktor." 

"You would." 494 ignored the startled, confused look 511 gave him and turned to the flight attendant with a carefully hidden smirk. "Could I get a couple sets of headphones, please?" 

The flight attendant looked up, harried. "You'll have to wait for ..." Her voice broke off as she took in 494's wide eyes and appealing look. Her face softened immediately. "Of course, sir. I'll be right back." 

511 grinned as he took in the new sway in her walk as she headed towards the drawer holding the headphones. "Hey, have you ever considered using your powers for good?" he asked in an undertone as the woman sashayed back towards them with a sultry smile. 494 tilted his head and eyed the woman's long legs speculatively. He bit his lower lip, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. 

"You can't be serious," he muttered back, then rose and took the headsets from her, dropping them into his seat before following her to the front of the plane. 

511 shook his head, flipping through the rest of his paperwork before taking out his mission brief again to review. He barely noticed the take-off, and it was at least forty minutes later when 494 sauntered back down the aisle to his seat, looking much more relaxed. 511 barely looked up. "You forgot to zip," he said. 

494 hastily checked before dropping into the seat, glaring at 511 who was fighting a smile. 

"Made you look." 511 bit back his grin. The flight attendant appeared at the head of the aisle, patting her hair back into place as she hurried towards the rear. She glanced at them as she passed, and 511 gave her a glowing smile. She flushed, looking startled, then continued on her way with a last searching look. 

This time 511 laughed out loud as his sensitive nose caught the unmistakable scent of fresh arousal. 494 rolled his eyes. "Poor woman is probably wondering if someone slipped her something." 

511 bit his lip and decided to let that one pass. "I've been going through the misison brief." 

494 was instantly all business. "Yeah?" 

"Did you notice that there is no commander assigned for this mission?" 

"Yeah." 494's voice was flat. He grabbed his headset, plugged it into the armrest, and settled it over his head, then turned to look at 511, revealing his uncovered ear. 

511 immediately copied the gesture, turning up the volume and resting the padded earpiece just behind his ear, snugging it up against the subcutaneous transmitter and buying them privacy. 494 gave a rueful grin. 

"Yeah," he said. "Lydecker." He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, his gaze was hard. "He didn't assign a commander on purpose. He wants to see who comes out on top. Which of us will win the fight for supremacy. He's done it before." 494 shrugged. "Frankly, I'm not interested." He paused. "As far as I'm concerned, you're in charge." 

511 thought about it, his face grave as he mulled over the implications. His face hardened. "Fuck Lydecker," he said. 

494 blinked. "What?" 

"Fuck Lydecker." 511 looked at him levelly. "As far as I'm concerned, we're in this together." 

"Neither of us in charge?" 494 tilted his head, eyes wary. 

"Yes." 511's tone gave no room for argument. He turned to face front again. When he spoke again, his voice was studiedly casual. "So... how did a solo operator end up assigned to this mission?" 

494 reclined the back of his seat. "Lydecker again. I made the mistake of indicating my distaste for group missions." 

511 chose not to ask why. He knew that 494 had experienced some missions that had gone truly bad, and that he'd been the sole survivor more than once. Instead, he went with an amused, "So of course, the first thing he did was send you out on one." 

"Not the first thing. He let me think he'd let it pass first. He likes to play these little mindgames with me." 494 gave a bitter laugh. "I think he likes to believe he's teaching me something." 

"Is he?" 

494 stared at 511, then nodded curtly. "Yeah. Damn him." 

"So what is he trying to teach you this time?" 511's forehead creased. 

"I dunno. The last lesson was 'you can't ignore orders you can't hear'." 494 laughed again, more naturally this time. "Though I'm pretty sure that wasn't _quite_ what he was aiming for." 

"Sounds like a painful lesson." 511 smirked. 

"Someday I'll tell you how I learned 'never sleep naked unless you want to fight naked'." 494 wriggled until he was as comfortable as he could make himself in his seat. He flipped the headset to cover his ear. "Right now it's time for 'sleep when you can, cause usually you can't." He closed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Wake me when we land." 

511 watched as 494's breathing grew even almost immediately. "Sure, partner," he said ironically, then closed his own eyes and fell asleep. 

* * *

Lydecker winced as the blare of rock music assaulted him from the com speakers. The com operator flipped his headphones off with a muttered curse. 529, Lydecker noted absently. 

"There is a conversation going on, sir, but I can't make out the specifics." 529 looked up at him earnestly. 

"Don't worry about it." He looked at his watch. "They're still on the plane." 

"Yes, sir." 

Lydecker drummed his fingers against his leg a moment, then turned to leave. "Notify me when they land, 529." 

"Yes, sir." Just then the music level died down a little, and even Lydecker's unenhanced hearing could make it out as 511 spoke. 

_[Sure, partner.]_

Lydecker was frowning as he left the room. 

* * *

They figured they would find a place to stay pretty quickly, since a few American greenbacks could convince almost anyone to do almost anything in this run-down town. 511 looked at a nearby dusty sign with its peeling paint identifying the building as 'the Dancing Hussar' and shrugged a little. 

"Think they have any vacancies?" He asked ironically. 494 arched an eyebrow. 

"Only one way to find out." 

They strode inside confidently, blinking against the sudden shift in from the bright outside to the dim interior. There was a shuffling noise to their left, and 511 raised his arm and blocked the descending bat with one stiffened wrist. He turned and wrenched the bat from the grip of his attacker. An instant later, 494's hand was around the man's throat. The distinctive noise of a safety clicking off made everyone freeze. 

"Let him go, boy." The thickly accented voice was nonetheless completely clear. 494 considered a moment, then released the gasping would-be attacker, who staggered back and rubbed his aching neck. 511 lowered the bat, but kept it loosely at his side. "Sergei intended no offense, American." 

"Yeah... None taken." 494 kept a wary eye on Sergei, who was a hulking brute of a man, and stepped forward to shake the hand of the fellow who seemed to be in charge. "Dmitry Grinkov. And this is my brother, Viktor." 

"Hassan Sulah." He returned the handshake while looking them over closely. "What are you two doing here? This is very out of the way, and you two seem... well..." 

"Young?" 511 spoke up, letting irritation cloud his voice. He threw himself into a chair, resting the bat across his knees. "We get that a lot." 

"But not naive, yes?" Hassan took a seat across from him. "And still not answering my question, either." 

"We're looking for our father." 494 gave him the story he and 511 had agreed on during the drive. "Other than that, it's none of your business." 

Hassan stared at him, then suddenly laughed with delight. "True!" He slapped the table, then gestured at Sergei. "Bring us whiskey, Sergei." 

"What we need is somewhere to stay when we're here." 511 slapped a couple of twenties on the table. "We've enough to pay to stay," his lips quirked in a biting grin as he paused. "But not enough to be worth robbing." He ran his hand along the bat lovingly. "I'll hold on to this, just in case." 

Sergei thunked the bottle of Jack Daniel's and three glasses on the table before retreating behind the bar. Hassan's gaze never left 511, assessing him. His grin never wavered as he picked up the two twenties and pocketed them. "All right," he said, "I have a room upstairs with a couple of cots." 

"That'll be fine," 494 told him, knocking back his whiskey and rising decisively. "Thanks for your help." He threw another ten on the table and picked up his duffle. 511 stood too, threw the strap of his own bag over his shoulder. They headed for the stairs. 

"Hey," 511 turned back to face Hassan. "Two things." 

"Yes?" Hassan was folding the money into his pocket. 

"First, if Sergei pays any midnight visits, he's dead. And so are you." Sergei straightened indignantly behind the bar, but Hassan's eyes flickered and 511 knew his suspicion had been correct. "Second..." Hassan's eyes narrowed as he waited. "Where does someone go to have some fun in this town?" 

* * *

494 tossed his duffle onto one of the dusty cots occupying the otherwise bare room with grimace of disgust. "Have fun?" He waved his hand in front of his face and hissed a breath through his teeth. "In this dump?" 

"I try and have fun everywhere I go." 511 cracked the window open with one precisely-placed elbow, taking a deep breath of what passed for fresh air. "And you aren't kidding about the dump... did you see that bathroom? Ugh!" He rubbed his hands together briskly. "All the more reason to spend as much time as possible elsewhere." 494 blinked at him. 

"We're on a mission, Viktor." He rummaged through his bag, coming up with some fresh tan clothes. He stripped efficiently. "Elsewhere is kinda the point." He gave 511 a wicked grin, but kept the grim mission-focus in his tone. "We don't have time for R&R." He looked mocking as he tapped behind his ear meaningfully. 511 closed his eyes and groaned, rolling his head back on his shoulders. 

"Of course." He shook his head and mimed cutting his own throat, but his voice was all business. "We should head out immediately." 

"We need to eat first." 494 laughed silently at 511, pointing. 511 glared. 

"Yeah. I'm pretty hungry." 511 sighed and turned away. 

494 wandered over to the window, stretching as he tried to shake out the kinks of the drive from Astana. His gaze swept the still deserted street. He worked his jaw, trying to ignore the increasingly maddening itch of his implant. He twisted his head to crack his neck, rolled his shoulders, then raked a hand through his hair to comb out some of the dust. As he let his hand fall away, he gave the little irritating bump behind his ear one vicious scratch. 

With a tiny, tearing pain, the transmitter fell into the palm of his hand. 

494 stared at it in shock. His transmitter had worked its way out? He brought it up to stare at it more closely, ignoring 511's easy chatter as he changed into fresh clothes of his own. Two of the tiny prongs on the device, intended to hold the implant snugged up against bone, were twisted. He closed his fist around it, mind racing. He turned. 

"... we can head out..." 511 was half-way through shrugging on his shirt when he caught sight of 494's face and froze. After a moment, he continued slowly, "... to the target site and initiate surveillance." 494 held out his fist and opened his fingers to display the implant. 511 frowned, his own hand raising to his ear. He felt gingerly. 494 came closer, moved 511's fingers to look for himself. The implant was bulging, the tip just poking from the skin as his body rejected it. 494 prodded, and 511 jumped as the transmitter cut the skin and dropped into his hand. 

"Well, well, well." 511 muttered softly, staring fixedly at the twin shards of metal in 494's palm. 

494 was still thinking furiously. One transmitter could be incorrectly implanted, perhaps a defect in the design, perhaps an error on the part of one of the ordinary doctors. But _both_? No. No, Lydecker had to be playing one of his games again. But what was the message supposed to be this time? What Manticore didn't know couldn't piss them off? Solo operatives should work without any safety net at all? Don't scratch? What? He glanced up and met 511's equally confused gaze. 511 lifted an eloquent eyebrow. He didn't know either. 

It didn't really matter, in the end. Obviously Lydecker wanted them fully incommunicado. And what Lydecker wanted, Lydecker got. 494 shook his head and shrugged. He grabbed a loose sock out of his duffel and dropped both of the transmitters inside, then shoved the sock back into the bottom of the bag and zipped it shut firmly. 

"Come on," he said to 511, moving towards the door. "Let's eat." 

* * *

Lydecker listened to 511 and 494 banter with his usual flat expression as he took his shift in the com centre. The same coms unit was on as last time, and he passed cold eyes over 529 as he moved to take his seat. 529 nodded absently, listening intently as his CO made contact with a potential asset. 

_[...but not naive, yes?]_

Lydecker yawned. He hated this stage of the missions. Listening was really the only method he had of keeping in touch during these remote ops, but it was still boring as hell. He poured himself a coffee and leaned tiredly against one of the desks. He reviewed the performance reports from the Gilette facility, noting with approval the improvements from the latest class of X6's. The conversation between the two transgenics continued unabated. 

An unexpected pause in the cadence of 511's speech made him look up. 529 was frowning, fiddling with some of the dials on his screen. "What is it?" Lydecker demanded. 

"Sir, we just lost quality on 494's feed," 529 responded promptly, hands never pausing. "Volume down by 90%." 

"What?" The alarm in Lydecker's voice made the other heads in the room jerk up, four new pairs of eyes coming to bear on 529, who swallowed. Just then 511's feed changed tone as well. There was silence. Lydecker growled low in his throat. "Did we lose them?" 

529 turned the gain to full across the board. 

_[Well, well, well.]_

The thoughtful words came through loudly on all channels, blasting through the intently listening room. 529 winced, cranking the volume down as Lydecker and the other listeners involuntarily flinched. They waited for more communication, but got only silence. A long moment passed. 

Finally, there was a rustle, followed by a thump and the distinctive noise of a zipper being drawn. Lydecker closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay." He said softly. "I want some answers." The rest of the room looked at him blankly. "Go find me some!" he snapped. 

Five seconds later the room was empty except for Lydecker, who stared angrily at the unresponsive coms equipment. "Fuck!" He threw his coffee against the wall, almost hitting Sandoval as he stuck his head in the door. Lydecker snarled and stomped out of the room. Sandoval eyed him warily as he passed. 

"Oh, just shut up." 

* * *

"All right." 511 rolled onto his back and stared up into the cold, starry night sky. "I have to say I'm pretty sick of this watching and waiting crap. I'm dying for a fight, here." He closed his eyes and shook himself a little. "Couldn't they have designed some surveillance specialists? Why send in us action types?" 

494 didn't stir from his position, watching al-Nassan's compound. "They did. We just don't _like_ it." 

511 rolled his head to look at his partner with annoyance. "Let's take a break. Do something fun. Hit the town." He paused. "Hit Sergei. Something."

494 gave a frustrated snort of his own. "I'd love to. But first, we need to work out a way into _that_." 

'That' was al-Nassan's fortress. It was surrounded by a twelve foot wall and a sheer five or ten meter drop on the other side, and was patrolled at three minute intervals by his soldiers. Soldiers armed with AK-51s and Magnum .45s. It was clear that al-Nassan was well funded. 

All of that would still be a breeze for the two transgenics, if all they wanted was to break in. But the mission called for verification of possession of the guidance systems, and the fortress was huge. Even with enhanced speed, searching the place would take too long to hope to remain undetected. 

No. They needed another way in. A _legitimate_ way in. Damnit. 

"They're never going to take us at face value." 511 echoed 494's thoughts. "We can't just knock and say 'Hey... we're wannabe gun runners. Teach us the trade?'" 

494 laughed despite the grimness of the situation. "No, I think that might be too much too expect." 

A sudden commotion at the huge iron gates had 511 rolling back to his stomach and both men focussing alertly on their target. A large, rectangular formation of chain link and steel piping was being brought out of the fortress. As more of it emerged, they could make out a large tear in the chain link. As they watched, a large troop truck pulled up to the gate and its tarpaulin was rolled back to reveal a shiny, new construction. A replacement panel. 

"Hey... Is that what I think it is?" 511's voice was a mixture of puzzlement and humour. 

"Yep." 494 lowered his binoculars and grinned with an unholy glee. 

"That," he said happily, "Is a cage." He beamed into 511's answering grin. "Looks like you're going to get that fight after all." 

* * *

"Ready?" 494 gave 511 a level look. "We go in, you pick a fight with me, we come to blows, and Hassan will refer us to the cages to settle it for an audience. OK?" 

511 cocked his head, grinning. "Sure," he said. "But I still like the idea of just... well... asking." 

494 glanced at him with superiority. "We need to have some legitimacy when we hit the cages. If we just ask, we'll never get in as contenders." 

511 shrugged. "I think Hassan would give us the recommendation, just so he could watch us get our asses handed to us by 'seasoned fighters'." 

"You're probably right." 494 scrubbed a hand through his hair. "But I'm practicing being devious. Humour me." 

"No problem, boss." 511 grinned wickedly, and headed into 'the Dancing Hussar'. 494 followed on his heels, a growl on his face. 

"I told you we wouldn't find him there!" he shouted into 511's ear. "But would you listen? No!" Sergei looked up alertly from the bar, and Hassan appeared from the back room to stand beside his employee. 

511's reply was low and ugly. "And if you tell me one more time, I'm gonna shut your mouth permanently." 

"You could try." 494's voice was goading. "You could always pray to have me trip and knock myself out. That way you might... _might_ win." 

Even as 511 turned with his fist raised, Sergei pumped the action on Hassan's shotgun. Both transgenics froze. 

"I do not wish to rebuild my bar." Hassan told them blandly. "Take it outside." 

511 shot 494 a raised eyebrow, and 494 just twitched his shoulder in resignation. 511 smiled a little and turned back to Hassan. "I think what we need is to 'take it out' on someone else, Hassan. Any idea where we could find some fights?" 

Hassan put away the shotgun. Sergei went back to running a cloth over the bar as his boss came out from behind the counter. "Fights." Hassan eyed them suspiciously. "What kind of fights did you have in mind?" 

"The bloody kind." 494 flexed his hands meaningfully. 511 nodded. 

Hassan stared at them a moment longer, then turned and looked at Sergei, who laughed. "I think I have just what you need." His lips curved in a grim smile. "I will take you there... personally." 

* * *

Hassan led them through a hidden back door of his establishment, then through a warren of streets until they came to another hidden entrance. "This place is owned by Volkovich," he told them softly, as if afraid of being overheard. "Do not overstep your bounds here. It is a very dangerous place for Americans." 511 and 494 each made a show of nodding. "Good! Good." Hassan slapped his hands together. "Who knows. If one of you can actually _fight_ , Volkovich might even take notice of you." 

"What if that happens?" 511's voice was bored. 

"Then, you fight for al-Nassan!" Hassan chortled to himself, "and I would get a nice finder's fee." 

494 licked his lips to hide his grin. "We'll try not to let you down, Hassan." He exhcnaged an amused glance with 511. 

"See that you do not," Hassan said, and knocked on the door. 

As it opened, all three men were assailed by the smells and sounds within. The hot scent of sweat lay heavily over the metallic tang of blood, and the grunts and thuds of flesh striking flesh could just be made out over the shouts and drones of many voices. 494 and 511 exchanged a look of pure delight. Finally! Some action! 

The man managing the door looked them over with a combination of criticism and boredom. Finally he shrugged and stepped out of the way, revealing stairs leading downward. The two transgenics headed down eagerly, and Hassan followed more slowly. 

The room opened up about halfway down the stairs. 494 grinned widely as he caught sight of the fight cage taking up the centre of the huge room. The chains were rusty, the floor was stained with sweat and darker things. "Isn't she beautiful?" 511 laughed with glee, and 494 nodded agreement. In the cage, two enormous opponents were fighting each other with wild swings and kicks. The crowd, a couple of hundred strong, screamed and cheered wildly with every bone-jarring thud. Hands full of cash waved in the air, and bookies wrote down their bets feverishly. 

Hassan steered them towards a small oasis of calm in the pandemonium. "Jack, my good friend," he said. "I have some fresh meat for you." 

The man he was addressing stood and surveyed the two transgenics skeptically. "Meat is right," he said. "Couldn't you have got me someone... bigger?" 

511 shot him a cocky grin. "You guys," he replied, "always harping on size." 

Jack glared at him. "You're up next," he said icily. "I hope you like the taste of blood." 

494 gave Jack his best expressionless look. "You have no idea, Jack. You probably don't want to find out firsthand." 

"Oh, but I _do_." Jack waved at the person manning the cage door as the fight inside ended with both men slumped on the floor, bleeding. "This guy..." 

"Viktor." 511 supplied helpfully. "And he's Dmitry." 

"Viktor will be next. Then, Dmitri." His lips twisted. "Good luck to you both." Jack turned to the crowd, and shouted, "Bets are open!" 

511 took off his jacket and headed for the cage door, 494 close on his heels. "Ok," 494 said, taking the coat. "Remember, don't win too fast." 

"Not a problem, bro." 511 rolled his shoulders, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I want to drag this out a little. I wasn't kidding when I said I needed to hit someone." 

"Better him than me." 

"Right back at ya." 511 stepped into the cage. 

On the opposite side of the circle, the door opened. A giant of a man stepped through, easily two meters ten. He was muscle head to foot, and 511 shook his arms a little to loosen them. Gigantor looked as though he could take some punishment, and 511 was looking forward to dishing some out. "Any rules?" He called to the man who was at the door behind him. A derisive snort answered him. "OK. Let's see what you've got." 

Gigantor moved with an unbelievable speed for a man his size, crossing the width of the cage in three large steps. He swung a massive fist at 511's head, but when it arrived his target wasn't there. He blinked in astonishment, then turned his head just in time to take a blistering punch to the jaw that drove him to his knees. He shook his head dumbly, then swung around on one knee and grabbed for his much smaller opponent. He managed to catch an ankle, but his quarry simply pivoted around that foot and kicked him in the side of the head. The crowd roared in appreciation. Gigantor let go and swayed on his knees before using the mesh of the cage to help himself back to his feet. 

511 was enjoying himself immensely. This guy was quick for his size, sure, but was still no match for a Manticore-trained transgenic. After all his sparring sessions against his squadmates, this was a walk in the park. Gigantor had regained his feet and was glaring at 511 balefully. 511 tilted his head, considering. They wanted to put on a bit of a show. Time to end this round with a bang. 

511 pushed his mind into stillness. He focussed for a long moment, staring into Gigantor's eyes, then moved. 

He crossed the space between them in a wickedly fast movement. He swept Gigantor's legs with one smooth motion, and in the next instant had crouched and punched his throat. Gigantor's head lolled. Out cold. 

The crowd was startled into silence. 511 rose and shook himself slightly, then strode over to the door he had used to enter the cage. As he reached out for the mesh, the crowd broke into an overwhelming cheer. Jack made his way to the door. "Very good," he said dryly. "Better than I had expected, certainly. Now we will see if your next opponent is also worth watching." 494's eyes narrowed. "Yes, you, Dmitry, as I said." 

511 backed away from the door to let it open, and 494 walked into the cage. 

* * *

Lydecker stared at his subordinate with an icy glare. "What do you mean, you don't know?" 

"I... I..." 

"Stop stuttering and spit it out." Sandoval said impatiently. 

"I can not find any mechanical reason that the implants malfunctioned." The technician finally found his courage to speak. 

"Well, they aren't sending any information, soldier." 

"Actually, sir, they are." The technician's voice got stronger. "We've analysed very thoroughly, sir, and I can tell you that they are transmitting perfectly. There is a definite, strong signal signature from each transmitter. We can identify the sounds of vehicles and people in the background, when we increase the gain." The technician pushed his glasses back up his nose. "The only hypotheses we've been able to form that fit the data are that 494 and 511 are not wearing them," the technician gulped. "Or that they are dead, sir." 

Lydecked eyed the man coldly. "Dismissed," he growled. Sandoval came to stand in front of Lydecker's desk as the technician scurried out. "They aren't dead," Lydecker asserted with absolute certainty. 

"I believe you." Sandoval replied. "Now why the hell would they cut out the transmitters?" 

Lydecker shook his head. "494, maybe," he said grimly. " _Maybe_. But 511?" He stood decisively and strode to the door. "Never happen." He opened the door. "Get me 529 and 303!" He barked at his assistant, who nodded and picked up the phone. Lydecker turned back to Sandoval. "Time to send in phase two." 

* * *

Renfro put away her headset and closed her drawer thoughtfully. Lydecker sending in reinforcement this early was a surprise. A surprise she didn't like. 

Still, her plan was unaffected. 

She flipped open her cell phone, dialled rapidly. "Johannsen. Renfro here." 

* * *

494 strode over to the far side of the cage. The referee finished dragging Gigantor out of the enclosure and closed the door with a reverberating clang. 494 turned and looked at 511, his lips quirking a little. 511 smirked, and stepped to the centre of the ring. 

"So," he muttered, knowing 494 could hear him. "How big a show do you want to give these people?" 

494 stretched, then took off his jacket and tossed it to one side before walking to the centre too. "No enhanced stuff." 

511 nodded his agreement and put out his hand as the ref yelled, "Shake!" 

494 looked at 511 and shook his head in mock sadness. "Amateur," he muttered, then drove his cocked elbow full force into 511's jaw. 511 spun with the impact, sliding into a backhand fist that rocked 494 on his feet. 494 stepped back, out of reach, and they began stalking around the perimeter of the cage. 

511 wiped a swear of blood from the corner of his mouth and laughed. "Not very sporting." 

494 flexed his jaw gingerly. "The backhand wasn't bad." 

"You here to critique, or are you here to fight?" 

494 laughed, the first truly amused sound 511 had heard from him in days. "By all means, Viktor. Hit me." 

511 bared his teeth. "You first, Dmitry. I insist." 

494 raised his eyebrows. An instant later he was across the cage in a burst of barely human speed. He lashed out with a straight punch that 511 ducked easily. The crowd gasped. 511 dropped to one knee, striking for 494's exposed ribcage. 494 collapsed his right leg and pivoted away from the hit, turning into a leg sweep that hit 511's thigh and dropped him onto his side. He followed up with a punch at 511's throat. 

He hit nothing. 511 rolled sideways and regained his feet, stepping immediately into a kick to 494's exposed side. 494 threw himself into a backwards somersault, and escaped. He came back to his feet with a grin. The crowd roared their appreciation. 

"Not bad." 511 raised his hands and began to unbutton his shirt. 494 mirrored him. The crowd rumbled a little, and Jack spoke up. 

"We're not here to watch a striptease, boys!" 

"You'll get your show, Jack." 494 didn't take his eyes from 511 as he tossed his shirt on top of his jacket. "We just need a little room to move." 

The two transgenics stood casually across from each other, arms held loosely at their sides. They stared into each other's eyes, not moving, barely breathing. Then, simultaneously, they exploded into motion. 

511 crossed the ring and dropped into a sideways roll, trying to take 494's feet from under him. 494 jumped straight up to avoid him, then dropped to one knee, aiming to strike 511 with a hammering elbow. 511 intercepted the elbow with crossed wrists, then turned his hands, grabbed 494's arm, and pulled. 494 was yanked into a somersault. He came back to his feet. 511 rose too. They circled again. 

494 cocked his head, then straightened into a more conventional boxing stance. 511 nodded and mimicked him. It was 494's turn to strike first, with a wickedly fast left hook. 511 was just a fraction too slow, and the fist caught him. Blood spurted from his nose, but 511 didn't have time to care, because 494 was on him in a flash. The crowd went wild at the sight of blood. 

511 blocked punch after punch, turning aside 494's attack and waiting his chance. An opening! He lashed out with a rabbit punch to 494's kidneys that lifted the other man right off his feet. 494 staggered but didn't go down, instead stepping back out of range. 511 noticed that he wasn't moving quite as fluidly as before. He swiped a hand across his face and glanced at the smear of blood. He eyed 494 pressing a hand to his ribs and grinned. "Good. I hope it hurt." 

They dropped into identical martial arts stances, as synchronized as if they rehearsed the move hundreds of times. The crowd recognized the motion immediately, and broke into an even louder roar of approval. 494 felt his focus narrowing, and saw in 511's face the same change. This was going to be fun! 

They met in the centre of the ring in a whirl of perfectly executed movements. 511 struck at 494's temple with a spinning kick. 494 grabbed the foot and chopped at his partner's extended knee with a cocked elbow. 511 dropped to his hands and pivoted around his captive foot, his free boot catching 494 just under the ribs. 494 grunted and released the foot, turning away from the blow. He lunged at 511, kicking him in the side before he could rise. 511 rolled with it, coming back to his feet. 

494 went after him again, with a punch straight at his throat. He dodged, spun, lashed out with a backhanded fist that 494 blocked with his forearm. 511 whirled back the other way, into a roundhouse punch that caught 494 on the jaw, staggering him. 494 went with the movement, dropped to one knee and punched at the back of 511's leg, collapsing him to his knees. 511 struck out with arm, swept 494's leg, followed with a strike to the groin. 

494 was already gone, laughing from a meter away. 511 sprang to his feet, and they engaged again. 

Jack watched the spectacle, reaching for his phone. He dialled rapidly. "It's me," he muttered into it quietly. "I think I have some new candidates for you." A fresh roar from the crowd signalled another successful hit. "Sorry... repeat that please?" There was a harsh metallic sound as one of the fighters hit the wire, using the chain link to take one step up and back flip. Jack's eyes widened. "They appear to be very good." Both men were covered in sweat now, but showed no signs of tiring. "Yes, sir. I'll do that now." He hung up. 

In the ring, 494 and 511 had switched to throws. 511 lunged at 494, who grabbed his wrist with both hands and pivoted, pulling him into a textbook shoulder throw. 511 hit the mat with a heavy thud and grimaced, then jack-knifed to his feet. 494 tried to follow up his advantage, but 511 grabbed the back of his neck in both hands. He dropped into a back roll, planted both feet in 494's stomach, and pulled, catapulting 494 into the cage wire upside down. He fell to the mat in an inelegant heap. An instant later, he was back on his feet. 511 lunged, grabbed him in a full nelson. "How much longer do you want to fight?" He muttered against 494's ear. 

494 rolled his shoulders, sliding straight down out of 511's hold. He grabbed 511's wrist and wrenched it up behind his back. "I'm about ready to wrap this up. We'll do a reverse..." 

The click of the latch being tripped on the door interrupted them. Both straightened and turned towards the door of the cage. Jack stood there. The crowd growled. 

"Very pretty, boys," he drawled. "I can tell you've had some training." 

494 looked him straight in the eye. "A lot of it's in the genes," he said. 511 snorted beside him. Jack looked at him consideringly. 

"Are you two interested in a lifestyle change?" 

511 cocked an eyebrow. "Sorry, Jack... But I just met you. And you just aren't my type." 

Jack glared. "I have an employer, who is always looking for new talent." 

494 looked mildly interested. "Keep talking." 

"You will need to prove yourselves against some of his own men," Jack told them blandly. "You may find it a challenge." 

511 shrugged. "Or not." 

"Very well." Jack glanced at the door. Two new fighters were waiting impatiently for their shot. "Let's allow the evening's entertainment to continue." He waved for 494 and 511 to pick up their discarded clothing and precede him. "You two are to be taken upstairs and shown a good time." He gave them a wolfish grin. "Volkovich wants to meet you." 

{Mission accomplished.} 494 grinned, and strode out of the cage. 

* * *

Lydecker looked at 529 and 303 with a critical eye. He had chosen these two for two reasons: they were in 511's unit, and they fit the look of the region without need for disguise. 529 looked vaguely middle-eastern, with silky dark hair and eyes and skin the colour of warm caramel. 303 was his opposite in colouring, with blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and a slavic stamp to his features. Despite the difference in appearance, the lack of expression on their still faces and the parade-perfection of their stances made them look eerily alike at some truly fundamental level. 

"Do you understand your mission, gentlemen?" 

"Yes, sir!" 

"Good." Lydecker stared at 529's profile menacingly. "I want 511 and 494 back here with all haste. Their mission is terminated. If possible, _you_ two will complete their task." 

"Yes, sir." 

Lydecker nodded with satisfaction. "Move out." He returned to his desk as the two left. 

He still didn't know what the hell was going on, or what the fuck was up with the transmitters, (which were still functioning perfectly, damnit), but he was going to find out. A mutter near his doorway made him look up, and he saw Renfro stride by, a cell phone to her ear. She looked pleased, and Lydecker's stomach turned. 

If she was happy, one of his kids was probably in trouble, somewhere. 

{Bitch.} 

* * *

"Oui, oui." [Yes, Yes] Renfro nodded as she walked, cell phone held tightly against her ear. She passed the open door to Lydecker's office and barely repressed a sneer. {My kids! My kids!} She snorted mentally, then hastily brought herself back to the conversation at hand. "Ils sont là. Oui, je suis certaine." [They are there. Yes, I'm sure.] She paused. "Bien." [Good.] She terminated the call, then dialled again. 

"Johannsen." She smiled as she heard his voice. She looked like a shark. "Your demonstration has been arranged." *pause* "Yes. Tomorrow." She laughed. "Oh, don't worry. You will not be disappointed." 

* * *

Jack led them through the crowd to another exit, this one leading up into the building instead of to the outside. The crowd alternately grumbled and patted them on the back as they passed, and 494 had to keep fighting back the impulse to defend himself as the hands slapped his sweaty shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye he watched 511's fingers spasm as someone grabbed his shoulder and shook it a little, and knew that 511 was having the same problem. 511 shrugged the hand off politely and grinned at the crowd. 494 shook his head slightly. 511 really did integrate the best of any of the transgenics he'd worked with. He made it seem effortless. 

Breaking free of the crowd, they headed up the steps to the exit. They stepped through the door into another world. 

People thronged this room as well, but instead of the hot, sweaty, bloody atmosphere of the fights below, this room was like something out of Arabian Nights. Silks and satins draped from the ceilings and shrouded the walls in a rainbow of colour. People lounged on couches and in deep chairs, and the entire area was lit by gaslight lanterns. Drinks were being served by women and men dressed in the scantiest of clothing. The two transgenics blinked in shock. 

Jack shot them an amused look, and strode easily through the room to an empty table. He gestured for them to sit, which they did willingly. 511 stretched his legs out under the table. Jack joined them, snapped his fingers at a passing server, who nodded and hurried towards a drape that apparently covered an entrance to still more of the establishment. 

"What would you boys like to drink?" Jack waved at another server, a tiny dark-haired woman with an angel's face and a body built for sin. 

494 licked his lips unconsciously as he stared at her. 511 smirked. "Scotch," they said in unison. 

"Single malt," 511 added. 

"Straight up." 494 said at the same time. 

The dark-haired angel smiled at them winningly. Her hips swayed invitingly as she walked away to get their order, and they watched her leave with identical expressions of masculine interest. Jack cleared his throat to get their attention. 

"Look, I think you boys might be good enough for al-Nassan to look at you." He began slowly. "We're always on the lookout for new talent, and with a little training, you two could be pretty impressive." 

"Yeah," 511 told him blandly. "I get that a lot." He shook his head and gave a resigned sigh. "If only I had some training." 

494 kicked him under the table. "Does he pay well?" He asked. 

"He pays very well, Dmitry." Jack gave 511 a quick look. "You still have one more hurdle before he'll agree to see you though." 

"What's that?" 511 spoke up. 

"Volkovich." Jack said the name as if someone was listening. "Volkovich needs to okay you before you'll be let in." 

"OK. When do we meet this Volkovich?" 

"Soon, soon." Jack stood. "For now, enjoy the hospitality. Everything you see is free for your use tonight." He gave an expansive gesture that encompassed the room. 

494 and 511 gave him wide-eyed stares. "Really?" 494's voice was thick with amused disbelief. 

"Oh, yes. al-Nassan is picking up the tab for the drinks. And anything else you wish to sample," Jack's eyes on the dark-haired angel approaching their table made his meaning clear. "Is also, as they say, on the house." 

494 and 511 exchanged a long, considering glance before 494 gave a slow nod. Jack gave a smile tinged with triumph and headed for the door that led back downstairs. The serving girl left their drinks with a seductive smile. Another server, this one a blond, well built man, dropped off a couple of towels at their table, along with some clean robes. He gave a deep bow and backed away, but 511 caught the appreciative glance the man gave the two of them. 

"Lots of variety on the menu, wouldn't you say?" 494's dry comment told 511 he'd seen the look, too. He towelled himself off briskly, but left the robes on the seat beside him with his shirt and jacket. 

"It _is_ the spice of life." 511 took a long, deep pull of his Scotch and closed his eyes at the familiar burn. He picked up the other towel and started to wipe himself down. 

"Not my life, Viktor." 494's eyes were back on the dark-haired serving girl as she swayed gracefully through the tables. "I like my world settled, my guns loaded, my Scotch single malt, and my women warm and willing." 

"Don't we all." 511 rubbed his eyes, then took another long draw of his Scotch. He signalled for another, then shrugged back into his shirt. "And it looks as though we'll get at least two of that wish list this evening." 

"Maybe sooner." 494 slanted the serving girl another glance and found her staring at him invitingly. She licked her lips and smiled. 494's eyebrows lifted, and he set down his glass with a soft thud. "Maybe now." 511 laughed, but made room so 494 could stand. 

As he moved to rise, 494 caught a flash of brilliant blue out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look. 511 noticed the look on his face and followed his gaze across the room. 

There in front of them was the most beautiful example of womanhood either had ever seen. 

"Oh, my blue lady," 494 breathed. 

" _Your_ blue lady? I think not." 511's eyes never moved from the vision of loveliness that had just entered the room. She was magnificent. She had to be six feet tall, and moved with the slinking glide of a hunting cat. Glossy raven-black hair cascaded down her back, and her clinging gown outlined every curve faithfully. Her face was a perfect oval, filled with vitality, and as her gaze swept the room, they could see that her eyes were dark as midnight. She stepped further into the room, and a huge black man entered behind her. His pose screamed 'bodyguard'. He glowered as some of the patrons stood and made their way over to his charge. The vision in blue smiled charmingly at her admirers, then threw her head back and laughed at something one of them said. 

"Your drink, sir." The server 511 had signalled set the drink down too close to the edge of the table, toppling it into 494's lap. 

"Shit!" 494 looked down at himself, then picked up his towel again. 511 was still staring at the woman in blue, and suddenly his eyes narrowed minutely. Anyone else would have missed the tiny tightening, but 494 immediately looked back at the woman, while still mopping himself up. "What?" 

511 grinned widely. "You know, I'll bet you couldn't use your powers on her." He leaned back, his shirt gaping open and revealing the bruises just beginning to darken the skin over his ribs. 

494 paused, letting his eyes sweep back to the the woman. He hummed softly. "I could." He tossed the scotch-wet towel onto the table and accepted a replacement drink from the desperately apologetic server. He shot the man a reassuring smile, and he scurried away as if he expected to be whipped. 494 shrugged. "If I wanted to." 

511's eyes gleamed with challenge as he leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. "I bet you... a hundred bucks, that you can't get her number." 

494 frowned, considered. "Money doesn't really count much back home," he replied evasively, but 511 could see the mischievous light in his eyes. 

"Two hundred," he countered. 

"Four." 

"Done, but you have to get it right now." 511 slapped his hand against the tabletop and picked up his drink. He made no effort to fight back his beaming grin. "So, get going." 

494 eyed him suspiciously as he rose. "All right... " he said. "I will." He tossed the shirt and towel aside and headed over. 

He consciously slowed his walk to a predatory glide, stalking the woman as if she were prey. Her eyes lit on him almost immediately, and she smiled slowly at his approach. She gave a languid gesture, and her admirers peeled away immediately, leaving only her bodyguard. She licked her lips, running her eyes down the length of his body. She ran a finger down the line of her throat and chest, playing with the hollow at the top of her breasts. As his eyes followed it's path she laughed, a rich, seductive sound. She extended her hand. 

494 took it in his, marvelling at it's smoothness, and placed a kiss on the back. He flicked it the tiniest bit with his tongue, and she shivered. He released her hand and straightened. She was watching him with coldly amused eyes. 

"I am Lola," she said in a husky tenor. 

"I'm... " 494 started to introduce himself. 

"I know who you are... Dmitry, I believe? And the fellow at your table... your brother Viktor." She shook her hair back over one lovely, bare shoulder. "I very much enjoyed watching you fight." 

494 stiffened minutely. "You watched us fight. I didn't see you." His voice implied clearly that he would have if she'd been in the crowd. 

"That is because I was not there." Her smile widened as she saw the comprehension flash across his face. She laughed, throwing back her head. 494 got another shock as his eyes fastened on the column of her throat. 

"You're a man!" 

"But of course I am, darling. You don't think al-Nassan would trust finding his fighters to a woman, do you?" She... HE... laughed again and threw an arm around 494's shoulders. "Your face!" He chortled. He voice dropped to his natural baritone. "Come, come. We have business to discuss." 

494 threw one fulminating glare over his shoulder at 511 before allowing himself to be pulled along in Lola's powerful grip. 

* * *

As 494 returned to the table, he could see 511 sitting with his head on his arms, convulsed with laughter. As he pulled out his chair with a grouchy thump, 511 looked up. The look on 494's face sent him off into fresh gales, and 511 wrapped his arms around his waist, holding his sides. 

"You prick." 494 muttered at him, trying to look casual as he downed part of his Scotch. "You knew, didn't you?" 

511 choked out an affirmative answer, and 494 looked at him through slitted eyes. "How?" he gritted. 

"Same way you did, Dmitry." 511 could barely draw breath to speak, he was laughing so hard. "I have yet to meet a _woman_ with an adam's apple." 

494 glared. "Laugh it up, Viktor," he said, reaching into his pocket. He drew out a slip of paper and slapped it onto the table. "But I have to tell you... that was Volkovich." 

511 stopped laughing and snatched up the paper. On it was written a couple of words in Russian. "Do svidanya, babushka?" He blinked, read them again. "Goodbye, baby? What the hell?" 

494 leaned back in his chair and sipped his scotch. "It's the passphrase for al-Nassan's place." The tiny, dark-haired serving girl from earlier sauntered by, giving 494 a pointedly come-hither look. 494 drained his glass and stood. He paused, drew another paper out of his pocket, and set it gently in front of 511. "And _that_ ," he announced. "Is her number." He set off after the dark-haired angel. "You can pay up later." 

"Well, fuck me." 511 stared at the telephone number in bemusement. 

"Sounds like an offer few could refuse." The husky contralto against his ear made 511 jump. "I sure couldn't." He turned his head to look into a pair of smokey blue eyes. They belonged to the blond man who'd been sizing him up earlier. 511 glanced after 494 and found the dark-haired girl looking at him from the edge of a doorway. She gave him a smouldering look, then gestured for him to join her. Another girl beside her, this one a lissome blonde, beckoned to him as well. 

511 grinned at the man beside him. "Sorry," he said. "Looks like meat and potatoes for dinner." He rose, headed for the alcove. He wrapped an arm around the blonde and pulled her into an embrace. He gave her a deep, drugging kiss that made her knees buckle before following her through the curtain. 

"Damn." The blond stared after him hungrily. "I was _so_ hoping for sausages." 

* * *

Renfro strode through the halls of Manticore with her usual air of tense arrogance. She pretended not to notice the people who turned their backs and scurried away at her approach. She passed a few people who didn't, and noted their faces for future intimidation. They all shared the same wary eyes and impassive expressions, and she gritted her teeth. 

Damned X-series. Too confident by far. When she was Director, she'd show them... 

Her pager beeped at her waist, and she snapped it free with a practiced flick of her wrist. The message was curt and to the point. 

[CONTACT.] 

Renfro barely paused, but her steps were looser and her lips parted in a satisfied smile. They were right on time. 

* * *

529 gloried in the rush of air past his body as catapulted towards the earth at terminal velocity. The jump from the plane had gone exactly as planned, though this was their first 'high altitude low opening' (HALO) jump. Beside him, in perfect formation, was 303. They exchanged a look in the deepening twilight, then 303 laughed exultantly. This was so much more fun than comms work! 529 looked down, searching for the tiny cluster of lights that would signify Astana below. After a long moment, he located them to his east, and pumped his fist at 303, then pointed. 303 nodded. 

In perfect unison, they folded their arms back against their bodies and dove towards their target. 

* * *

494 squinted in the early morning sunlight as they stepped out of the door. He was only a little surprised to find himself on the street directly opposite the Dancing Hussar. 511 handed him a pair of sunglasses, which he put on without comment. 

"What time are we supposed to be there, again?" 511 asked. 

"0900." 494 answered, then stretched hugely. "We'll be asked to provide a demonstration for al-Nassan, then we'll be in. We should be able to hunt up the weapons system fairly quickly once we're accepted as permitted in the compound." He rolled his shoulders, then turned to look at 511's profile as he stared at the Dancing Hussar. "Everything is proceeding as planned." 511's brow was furrowed. "What is it?" 

"There is something not right here." 511 shrugged, then shook himself slightly. "I can't quite put my finger on it." 

494 grinned. "Maybe your hands are tired after having such a busy night." 

511 laughed halfheartedly. "I don't think so." He turned to face 494 directly. "We're overlooking something." 

494 sighed, then started to walk along the street "Ok. Let's go over it, then." 

511 fell into step beside him. "The mission is straightforward. Go to Astana, verify al-Nassan has the weapons system, obtain the prototype, destroy the compound." 

494 nodded. "So far, no problem." 

511 shook his head. "Except for the transmitters." He glanced at 494 sideways. "Doesn't that seem strange to you?" 

494 blinked behind his sunglasses. "A little." He frowned thoughtfully. "OK... a lot. It's been bothering me." He stopped walking. "But I just can't believe that they're both out by accident. Lydecker must be trying to tell us something." 

511 tilted his head back to look at the sky. "I don't like the transmitters thing, either. I mean, I get that Lydecker plays games, but leaving _himself_ out of the loop? That is just not the Colonel I know." 

494 rubbed his forehead. "There is something else going on here." He chewed the edge of his thumb as he thought. "So, lets say the transmitters weren't some bizarre message from the Colonel. That takes us back to it being accidental. Maybe Manticore is breaking in a new doctor or something." 

511 nodded, still looking at the sky. "Or, it could be we're walking into a trap." 

494 turned and started walking again, back to the Dancing Hussar. "That doesn't really make sense, though. If someone wanted us, they could have taken us last night, at the fights." 

"Or after." 511 said wryly. 

"Unless they're waiting for something else to happen first." 494 frowned again. 

"Don't matter." 511 waved his hand dissmissively. "We can handle anything they can come up with, anyway." 

"Huh," 494 grunted. "At least if it's an accident or a trap, there's one good thing about it." 

"Oh?" 511's eyebrows rose. "What would that be?" 

"Lydecker can't stand not knowing what's going on," 494 said. "He'll send reinforcement." 

511 grinned. "I can't wait." 

494 smiled back, then skipped up the steps to their temporary home. "In the meantime, there's a mission to accomplish." 

* * *

They hit al-Nassan's compound promptly at 0855. The guards looked them up and down, then nodded reluctantly and pressed the button to open the gates. The guard stopped them just inside, by the simple method of levelling a MKM-765 semi-automatic rifle at their chests. 

"What's the passphrase?" he grunted at them in Russian. 

"Do svidanya, babushka." 494 replied evenly, eyeing the gun cautiously. 

The guard lowered the gun and laughed, shaking his head and putting out his hand in greeting. "That makes me laugh every time I hear it." he said, in English this time. He had an American accent. "What really kills me is the straight face everyone wears when they say it." 

511 shook the guard's hand and jerked his head towards the main building, two hundred yards distant. "We head there?" 

The guard nodded and hit the button to close the gates. "Go inside. They'll be waiting for you guys." 

494 nodded curtly and started for the main door. 

"Hold on." The guard stopped him. "I need to search you two for weapons." 494 and 511 shared an amused look, but obediently turned and assumed the position against the wall. The guard frisked them thoroughly and efficiently. He paused at a suspicious bulge in 494's jacket pocket, but continued quickly enough when it was smooshy under his hand. He stepped back and gestured for them to continue. 

511 gave a quick grin. "Thanks, pal. Appreciate the welcome." He and 494 walked toward the steps to the door. 

The guard's eyes were cold and flat as he stared at their departing backs. "You won't." 

511 narrowed his eyes, but otherwise didn't do anything to indicate that he had overheard the comment. "You know, I'm getting the feeling that there's more going on here than meets the eye," he muttered wryly out of the side of his mouth. 494 snorted. 

"What was your first clue?" They trotted up the steps. The door swung open as they approached. 

"I don't remember." 511 looked at the door warily but didn't slow down. "But that's the lastest one." 

A man was waiting for them just inside. The hallway was dark, and the man was robed in a dark brown silk that attempted to hide his distinctly American features. The two transgenics could make him out as clearly as if he'd been standing outside in the sun. "I am Khaleeq. I will take you to al-Nassan." Khaleeq's arabic accent was passable, but still obviously fake. He walked away, leading the way deeper into the structure. 

They followed him to a heavy wooden door set into the wall. He knocked once and pushed the door open, gesturing for them to enter. As they did, he closed the door behind them. 

They stood in a beautifully appointed office. Dark wood furniture dominated the room, which was otherwise decorated like an old English study. Heavy dark wainscoating lined the room, and the rest of the walls were painted a rich red, the colour of fresh blood. Bookcases lined two of the walls, full of leather bound, gold etched books. 494 bit back a soft whistle of appreciation. 

Apparently, crime did pay, and damned well. 

The room was L-shaped, he realized, and stepped forward to see the rest. It opened up to their right. A beautifully carved wooden desk faced them, with a long cream-coloured couch against the wall beside it. Both were occupied. One man, with dark good looks and cold eyes, sat behind the desk. al-Nassan, likely. On the couch were two others. The first had was plainly American, with sandy hair, empty light eyes, and a smirk. The second was another American, with dark brown hair just growing out of a military cut and friendly blue eyes. He was staring at 494 with an expression close to shock on his face. 

511 felt 494 stiffen minutely as his gaze swept over the dark-haired American. He turned slightly to look at 494 out of the corner of his eye. An expression of dismay flitted across his partner's face, so quickly that a blink would have missed it. It was followed by a look of ice-cold calculation, a look 511 hadn't seen on 494's face before. An instant later, 494's face came alive with friendly good humour. His eyes sparkled, and he gave a wide grin to all of the men. The change was so drastic that 511 wondered if he'd imagined the flash of emotion. 

"Hey. I'm Dmitry." 494 extended his hand to the man at the desk. The Americans rose. 

"Sabih." al-Nassan stood too, and gripped 494's hand warmly. "This is Johanssen. He is the captain of my guards." He gestured at the sandy-haired smirker, who nodded, "And Thomas, who is his right hand." He indicated the other fellow, who still looked a little shaken. 

"I'm Viktor." 511 shook hands all around. "So... what can my brother and I do for you, Mr. al-Nassan?" 

al-Nassan smiled tightly. "Cutting right to the chase, Viktor. Yes. I have heard that about you." 511's shoulders tightened. "Very well. I have a proposition for you." 

"We're all ears." 494 fell into a relaxed stance. The Americans resumed their seats, moving with the easy grace of the professional soldier. 494 watched Thomas sit, a tiny frown between his brows. 

"I am always looking for new talent to bolster the ranks of my guards." al-Nassan started smoothly. "I have a high turn-over rate, you see. I engage in activities that some might consider dangerous," he lowered his eyes modestly. "And a man of my considerable means does make an occasional enemy here or there." 

"I can see how that would be the case." 494 nodded with a charming smile. 

"We only sign our guards on for a year." al-Nassan continued, warming to his subject. "But, for that year, everything they desire is made available to them." 

"A year?" 511 asked, a fine thread of laughter in his voice. "Or less, I imagine." Thomas covered a smile with a cough. 

al-Nassan shot him a look of dislike. "As I said, I have a high turn-over rate. But I pay extremely well." He named a figure that had both transgenics whistling softly. 

"So how do we join your band of merry men?" 494 shifted slightly on his feet. His eyes slid to Thomas, who was once again biting back a grin. Johanssen's smirk had disappeared. Now he looked like a shark who had just nabbed himself a big, juicy seal. 

"A simple matter of proving your suitability!" al-Nassan spread his hands expansively. "Based on your demonstration last night, you should have no probem." 

511 looked at the three men. Thomas was no longer smiling. Instead, his face was blank, and he was staring at 494 intently. Johanssen's smirk was back in place, and his eyes glittered ominously as they awaited 494's response. al-Nassan had only a look of polite interest. 

"Ok." 494 shrugged. "Let's go." 

An expression of jubilation crossed Johanssen's face. al-Nassan gave a wide smile and shook 494's hand again. Thomas closed his eyes. 

{Shit, meet fan,} thought 511. 

* * *

Another cage. This one was in good shape, though the chain mesh bulged in various places, and there were specks of blood in the wire. One panel was bright and shiny. The one they had seen being brought through the gates, 494 supposed. A couple of fighters stood at the door opening into the cage from the other side, and as 494 rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles, more men began to file into the room, taking seats in the plain wooden bleachers. Light from some dangling bare bulbs cast bizarre shadows across the room. 511 looked at the blank faces of the silent watchers, and his feeling of foreboding grew even stronger. 

494 made as if to step into the cage, and al-Nassan stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Let Viktor go first," he said. 494 shrugged and stepped away, giving 511 room to pass. He took off his jacket and handed it to 494, then stepped through the door into the cage. It clanged shut behind him. His opponent entered from the other side and faced him. 

"This is not a request for a display." al-Nassan told 511. "I want to see how quickly you can take Grigori down." He paused. " _If_ you can take him down." 

511 nodded his understanding and turned to face his opponent. 

Unlike the fighters the night before, this fellow was slightly built. He was short too, but wiry. 511 knew that for him to be here at all meant that he was an exceptional fighter, but it was still a little hard to credit. Then the man attacked, and all of 511's doubt disappeared as he concentrated on blocking the flurry of blows. 

The man was incredibly fast. Inhumanly fast, in fact. 511 barely managed to avoid the fist aiming for his head. He dodged to the side as the punch passed his ear, intending to hit his opponent with an elbow to the base of the neck, but Grigori slid sideways in step with him, as smoothly as an eel, and 511 had no room to deliver his counter. Grigori lashed out with his other fist and caught 511 under the short ribs. The power in the strike exploded 511's breath from his lungs, and he sprang into a backflip to give himself some room. Grigori followed, but this time 511 was ready for him. 

He kicked the smaller man in the chest, then levered himself around his foot and followed through with a boot to the other man's temple. Grigori dropped onto his stomach, and 511 was on him in a flash of movement, one knee on his neck, snugged under his chin and compressing his carotid. Both of 511's hands anchored one of his opponent's arms straight up, pinning him in place. Grigori fought him grimly, but 511 countered each move, using his greater weight to his advantage. After about a minute, Grigori's struggles slowed, and he finally lay still. 511 pinched the web of flesh between the other man's thumb and forefinger to be sure he was out, and when there was no reaction slowly released him. He stood. 

The instant 511 was on his feet, Grigori struck, sweeping his leg. 511 reacted instinctively, leaping into a roll to avoid the strike. He punched the still prone Grigori at the base of the neck. Grigori dropped. This time he stayed down. 

511 stared at him, then backed to the cage door, never taking his eyes from the unconscious man. The door opened behind him and he stepped through, taking his jacket back from 494, who clapped him on the back. 511 muttered a thanks, glancing at 494's profile briefly. A minute tightness around 494's mouth told him that 494 had seen, and more importantly, had understood. These fighters were no chumps. 

"Very good! Very good." al-Nassan pumped 511's hand enthusiastically, but his eyes were grim. The audience hadn't made a single noise during the fight. 511 was starting to find the whole thing a little unnerving. "And now, for Dmitry." 

494 stripped off his jacket. He handed it to 511, who took the opportunity to lean close. "There is something really, really wrong here," he hissed just loud enough for 494 to hear him. "That guy was no ordinary guard." He put just enough emphasis on 'ordinary' for 494 to catch his meaning clearly. 494 nodded, eyes a little troubled. He entered the cage. Thomas gave a tiny, abortive movement as if to stop him, then shook his head firmly and strode with jerky steps over to the bleachers. 511 watched him go, then turned back to the cage. He crossed his arms and tried to look unconcerned. 

494 gave himself an all-over shake to loosen muscles humming with tension. He flexed his hands a couple of times, waiting for his opponent to enter the cage. The cage door opposite him opened, and not one but two guards stepped through into the circle. 

"Changing the rules, al-Nassan?" he heard 511 ask sharply from behind him. 

"Not at all, Viktor. Johanssen requested a demonstration of your worth, and a thorough demonstration he will get." al-Nassan's voice was oily. "I don't recall that there were rules, anyway." He laughed. "Your goal, Dmitry, is to beat Jeff and Ace, here." 

494 ignored them both, though he clearly heard 511 gritting his teeth. Instead he focussed on his opponents. Both were larger and more heavily built than himself. A blond, and a fellow with a shaved head. The blond had a large tatoo of an ace of spades on his right bicep. 494 raised an eyebrow. How original. 

Jeff rushed him. 494 took the direct approach and greeted him with a punch that lifted him right off his feet. Jeff fell to the mat, his shaved head bouncing twice. Ace didn't wait for his partner to get up. He came at 494 in a movement that was wickedly fast. 494 threw himself to one side, and Ace missed him by inches. 494 responded with three quick punches into Ace's body, that would have dropped an ordinary man. Ace barely grunted, instead grabbing 494's fist and wrenching it around, trying to pull him close enough to clutch. 494 twisted away, only to be grabbed by Jeff, who was once again on his feet. 

494 struggled against the restraining arms pinning his hands to his sides. To his shock, Jeff held him easily. 494 met 511's troubled gaze through the mesh. 511 nodded curtly, his mouth compressed in a grim line. There was no point in trying to be subtle with these guys. The nature of the trap was becoming clear. 

494 growled deep in his throat, starting to get pissed. They were agreed. 

It was time to take off the gloves. 

* * *

Lydecker paced the comms room in jerky, tense steps. 529 and 303 should have reached Astana by now, but they hadn't checked in yet. There hadn't been time to give them the subcutaneous transmitters, so he was stuck with more traditional means of communications. He didn't like not knowing where his kids were. 

He didn't like it at all. 

He stopped at the shoulder of the unfortunate private who had drawn duty today. "Squelch them again, Private." 

"Yes, sir." The private replied dutifully, glancing heavenward. He flipped the switch that would send a brief burst of tone to the earpieces worn by 529 and 303. "Done, sir." 

"Good." Lydecker resumed pacing. A few minutes later, his cell phone rang. He took it out and looked at the number on the call display. "What the hell?" He flipped it open. "Lydecker here." 

_[Sir. It's Jason.]_ 303's voice barely came through the burst of static on the line. Lydecker winced. _[Our com unit was destroyed on impact. We... ah... convinced someone to lend us their telephone.]_

"Good work, Jason." Lydecker replied, allowing approval to colour his tone. "Any news on our friends?" 

_[It seems they're with the contact, sir.]_ 303 said cautiously. _[Something about a demonstration being arranged? The proprietor of their inn was most eager to talk, sir. But he doesn't seem able to hold his wine.]_

So the fellow had passed out during questioning. Amateur. Lydecker frowned and rubbed his chin. "All right, Jason. Do you know where their full location?" 

_[I believe so, sir.]_

"Fine. Go get them." Lydecker snapped shut his phone. Phase Two was right on schedule. 

* * *

Renfro leaned back in her leather chair and ran a hand through her hair. She glanced at the slim silver watch on her wrist. The demonstration had been scheduled to start forty minutes ago. 

She smiled viciously. 

It should just be getting interesting. 

* * *

494 went absolutely, perfectly still as he saw Ace draw back his fist. He felt the arms around him relax minutely, and immediately exploited the advantage by dropping straight down through the circle of Jeff's arms. His shirt caught a little, hampering the movement and preventing 494 from breaking free. Ace's fist caught Jeff in the throat, and the bald man choked briefly. His arms loosened further, and 494 wrenched himself loose. There would be no limiting himself to human abilities now. He blurred across the cage, buying himself room. The crowd made its first noise, a low mutter, and 511 clenched his fists, a fierce grin on his face. al-Nassan and Johanssen stood beside him, faces blank. 

The three combatants stared at each other, annoyance written clearly on each face. Then, as if choreographed, they all exploded into violence. 

494 fought for his life. These two men were as fast, as strong as he, and they seemed to feel no pain at all. He had no counter for that except willpower and his training. As the fight continued, he made another alarming discovery. The bastards didn't seem to tire, either. 

He blocked a wickedly fast punch, spun away from a kick to the ribs, whirled into a strike at Ace's temple. It connected, and Ace rocked back a little, but kept coming. His opponents' ability to take punishment was a real problem; they saw no need to avoid his attacks. They simply took the hit and moved on. 

494 grunted as a fist caught him in the short ribs, doubling up over Jeff's fist. He collapsed into a backwards somersault, barely escaping Jeff's follow up uppercut, or Ace's stomp where his head had been an instant before. Oh... this was not good. This was not good at all. He risked a glance at his partner. 

511 was pacing the chain link now, his eyes fixed on the action. The others had edged back away from him, responding to the aura of menace that was growing by the second. He ignored them. 494's eyes flicked to meet his, and 511 growled low in his throat at the alarmed look in them. 494's face and posture were calm, centred, but that glance betrayed his thoughts to 511. 

Ace and Jeff rushed him again, and he slipped away as gracefully as a cat, but the fight had been going on for a long time, and even his enhanced body was starting to feel the fatigue. He was slowing ever so slightly. 511 winced as 494 was caught by another punch, then by a kick that opened the skin over his cheekbone. All three of them were bruised and bleeding from the beating they were taking, but so far 494 was holding his own. 

Barely. 

511 clenched his fists in the chain mesh of the cage and squeezed. The pain barely registered, and blood started to trickle down his wrists as he fought his nature. Everything in him was urging him to go to 494's aid. But he couldn't. 

Damnit. 

Then everything went wrong. 

494 staggered as he took yet another hit to the ribs. He fell to one knee, gasping at the splintering pain that announced a broken bone. Ace and Jeff were on him in a rush. Jeff kicked him full force under the chin, wrenching him upright and over, laying him out full length on his back. Ace gave him a vicious kick to the side at the same spot. He rolled desperately to the side, only to take Jeff's next kick in the face. 494's breath left him in a gasping puff of blood. Face distorted by anger, Ace lifted his foot to stomp the back of 494's neck. 

511 swarmed up the side of the cage in a barely visible blur of movement, almost missing Thomas' blurt of protest. He was over the top and on Ace so fast he hardly remembered getting there, and he threw the blond across the ring, then punched Jeff full in the face. He reached down and offered 494 a hand. 494 took it silently, rising without even wincing. He and 511 wore identically impassive expressions. 

"What a soldier a combination of these technologies would make..." Johanssen breathed. al-Nassan shot him an irritated look. Jeff and Ace moved to rush the two transgenics, but Johanssen stopped them with a raised hand. 

"You broke the rules, Viktor." al-Nassan's voice was chiding. 

"The ARE no rules, remember, Sabih?" 511 replied flippantly, though his eyes were icy with rage. 

"Except staying alive." 494 added softly. "If Ace here had connected, I'd be dead." 

"We would have brought you back, 494." al-Nassan told him, an arrogant grin curving his lips. "We just would have.. improved you a little." 

"Thanks for the thought. But all the 'improving' I need I can get in the Self-Help aisle of my friendly neighborhood bookstore." 494 looked around. "All of your guards are like them?" 494 gestured at Ace and Jeff, now standing at attention. 

Johanssen's wave took in the entire silently watching audience. "All of them." 

511 and 494 exchanged a look. 511 reached into the pocket of 494's jacket and withdrew a sock. al-Nassan and Johanssen were startled. Johanssen began to laugh. "What is that for? Party tricks?" 

"No." 494 smiled grimly, took the sock, and turned it inside out. Two tiny, glittering pieces of silver fell to the floor. "This is the most powerful weapon you're likely to ever see." 

511 tossed the jacket to the side. "We call it... Phase Two." 

494 shouted. "Mayday, mayday, mayday! Soldier requiring assistance. Mayday, mayday, mayday..." 

Johanssen glared at the tiny metallic shards in a sudden rage. "Transmitters! Get them!" 

As Ace and Jeff lunged, the audience rose as one and surged towards the cage. 494 and 511 fought back to back, fending off the enraged attack from the two guards. The cage walls bulged as the other soldiers climbed them. They began to buckle. 494 and 511 braced themselves for the first few additional guards to reach them. 

Even as they did, the lights went out. 

* * *

Captain Thomas Andrews was feeling very unhappy. He'd known what was supposed to happen; that Johanssen had made a deal with some woman over at some top secret genetics manipulation facility. The deal was to demonstrate their technology, with an eye to potentially merging their design streams. He had _known_ that, logically. He'd even suspected that it might... _might_ be the same outfit who's kids he'd evaluated five years ago. 

He hadn't known that they would send 494. 

Seeing the kid again had been like a punch to the gut. He'd grown up... grown into the potential Andrews had seen so clearly back in the Balkans. He moved with assurance now. A different kind of arrogance than he'd displayed back then. 494 had been on more missions, been out in the world, had come back alive. He had come into his own. 

But 494 couldn't know what he was facing here. 

Of course, he'd recognized Andrews immediately, but had reacted as if they'd never met. A wise choice; it placed the ball in Andrews' court. If he was undercover it kept him safe, and if he was for real it kept him as a potential ally. If Andrews had gone to the dark side, then he'd know pretty darned quickly. If he was undecided, it let him know that 494 was willing to work with him. Andrews felt a grudging admiration for the quickness of 494's mind in assessing the options and making his decision so fast. _He'd_ still been working out the implications when they left the room to watch the 'demonstrations'. 

He'd watched Viktor dispatch Grigori in a haze. A distant part of his mind was surprised that the kid took down such an experienced soldier so quickly, while another part noted the kid's reaction speeds and training as being above average, but hardly in the same realm as theirs. The part of him that was hoping for a convergence of technology... and a way to extend his life... was disappointed. The part of him that wanted 494 safe was glad. 

Then 494 entered the cage. Andrews almost reached out to stop him, but at the last instant caught himself and instead took his place on the bleachers. Ace and Jeff entered the cage with him. Andrews' heart stopped as he realized what Johanssen had in mind. Ace and Jeff weren't hand to hand experts. Viktor had demonstrated that the transgenics were well trained and could take down one of Johanssen's soldiers one-on-one. Now Johanssen wanted to see how hard these transgenics were to kill. 

494 engaged directly enough, taking Jeff down with a straightforward punch that would have knocked out an ordinary human. There was a scuffle with Ace, and then 494 whirled away from him, only to be grabbed in a bear hug by the recovered Jeff. Andrews winced as 494 struggled. Maybe his memory was flawed by time, by the haze of pain he'd been in at the time, or by the implant at the base of his skull. Maybe these transgenics _weren't_ much more than human. Based on what he had seen so far, the fight was over. 

494 stilled. It was the peculiar relaxation Andrews remembered from the Balkans, and he leaned forward involuntarily. 

494 burst into motion, dropping away from Jeff and escaping across the cage in a blur of motion. There was an instant of stunned motionlessness from his opponents, and then they went after him, no holding back. 

Andrews risked a look at Johanssen. His face was avid as he watched the fight, grinning broadly at the enhanced capabilities 494 was showing them. 494 fought off Jeff and Ace brilliantly. They were putting on a show, too... taking punishment no human should be capable of. It was clear that 494 could have taken either of the soldiers individually, but it was equally clear that the two of them were wearing him down. Andrews could see how the two technologies could compliment each other. Imagine! A fighter with transgenic speed, strength, and senses, combined with the soldiers' endurance and resistance to pain. 

That fighter would be unbeatable. 

A pained gasp drew his eyes back to the ring. 494 had been laid out full length on the canvas and had just taken a punishing kick to the face. He curled defensively, rolling away, and Ace lifted his foot to crush the back of 494's neck. Andrews lunged to his feet, a protest on his lips. Only he saw 494's hand flash with inhuman speed toward his boot. 

Viktor exploded to his partner's defense. He was so fast it looked like stop motion; one instant he was beside the cage, the next at the top of the wire, the next standing over 494 as the two attackers were airborne. He lowered his hand to help 494 to his feet, and Andrews caught a glint of metal as 494 slid the knife back in his boot, hiding the motion under the guise of tucking his legs under himself to stand. With his free hand he accepted Viktor's assistance. 

Andrews sat back down, surprised to find his hands shaking and his breathing rapid. He ignored the action in the ring; ignored Johanssen's gesture for him to come over. He knew, now. 

Betraying 494 was not an option. 

He jerked to his feet again as 494 shouted. "Mayday, mayday, mayday! Soldier needs assistance! Mayday, mayday, mayday..." The watching audience attacked the cage. Andrews was frozen in shock. There were too many of them! 

The lights went out. 

* * *

The lights went out. 

494 and 511 reacted simultaneously, each leaping straight into the air and grabbing hold of an overhead iron beam. They curled their legs up, 494 restraining a soft noise of pain as his cracked rib complained fiercely. Silently they pulled themselves over the edge of the rafter, straddling the beam and looking down at the chaos below them. The soldiers didn't display any signs of enhanced night vision, instead attacking each other indiscriminately in the almost total darkness. 

Smoothly, they stood and started making their way out of the room. 494 stopped over the bleachers, looking down intently. 511 tapped his shoulder and gestured a question. 494 looked back at him and chewed his lip thoughtfully. Then he shrugged and stepped off the beam, dropping almost soundlessly to the floor beside Andrews. He grabbed the other man, clamping a hand over his mouth. Andrews didn't move. 

511's eyebrows shot up in alarm. He followed 494 back to the floor immediately, gesturing at him urgently. 494 ignored him, easing his captive towards the door. The din in the room was fading as the combatants realized that they were, in fact, fighting each other. Within seconds the room was quiet. 

511 cursed silently and followed 494. Andrews made no move to struggle or to pull away, instead meekly allowing himself to be pushed to the wall. 494 pressed the latch with his free hand as carefully as possible. 

The click of the door sounded ridiclously loud. There was an enveloping rustle as fifty or more heads turned as one towards the door. 511 felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and fought the urge to scratch. 

"Go go go!" 494 pushed the door open and shoved Andrews through before leaping through himself. 511 was a heartbeat behind and both transgenics threw themselves against the door to hold it in place as the first soldiers thudded against the other side. 

"Here. Use this." Andrews handed 494 a heavy metal bar. "There are brackets to hold it." 

511 shot the other man an incredulous look. What the hell? 494 took the bar and heaved it into place without comment, then took off down the hallway towards al-Nassan's office at a comfortable run. 511 grabbed Andrews' collar and followed, pulling his unprotesting prisoner along with him. 

494 reached the office and went inside without pausing. A tiny click froze all three of them, then a match flared and revealed two young, grinning faces. 529 cracked open a light stick so that they could see. 

"Took you long enough, Dmitry. I was expecting you 18 seconds ago." 303 eased down on his gun. 

"So sorry to keep you waiting, Jason." 494 stepped aside and let 511 and Andrews into the room. 511 pushed Andrews onto the couch. "Had some baggage to pick up." 

"Hmmm." 303 nodded wisely. Andrews couldn't help it... he laughed out loud. He jumped back to his feet with a quickness that had all four of the transgenics jerking in surprise. He took one long stride and grabbed 494 in an exuberant bearhug. 

"It is good to see you, 494!" 

When Andrews released him, 494 was surprised to find himself grinning back. "Hi Lieutenant." The other three relaxed, exchanging puzzled looks. 303 and 529 shrugged. 

"Captain now." Andrews sobered almost immediately. "You need to get out of here." 

494's face smoothed back into impassivity. "Can't. I have a mission to complete." 

Andrews' face was grave. "I was afraid of that." He took a deep breath. "But it is still good to see you." 

529 looked up from where he had been expertly tossing al-Nassan's desk. "I found the files you mentioned, Viktor. Looks like there is embedded computer access here too." 

511 joined him. 303 was rifling the books in the bookshelves. "Nice work, Abbu." 529 nodded. "So... there _is_ a laser-guided bioweapons development lab at this site." He blinked as the implications of the information scrolling down the screen hit him. "Though that's a bit of an interpretation, isn't it, Captain?" 

Andrews sat down. "Yes." 

494 stared at him. "Explain." 

529 was the one who spoke up. "The bioweaponry is him. Is them... the soldiers. They have an implant that increases their metabolic rate and makes a few other 'improvements'. It's seated at the base of the neck, and uses a micro-laser to find the right position." He glanced at Andrews. "It kills them within a year." 

494 blinked slowly. Andrews nodded. "This is a recruitment facility," he said heavily. "al-Nassan is a frontman for the US government. He picks suitable candidates, and we recruit them." 

"Suitable?" 494's voice was remote. 

"Good fighters. Good shape. Cold killers." Andrews told him softly. "If you only have a year to live, you don't have time to learn hand to hand, or start a fitness regimen." He shrugged. "We were in talks with your group about a partnership. It's possible the technology that made you could also make us live longer." 

"How long do you have left?" 494 looked away, not wanting to see Andrews' face. 511 and 529 were watching the byplay in fascination. 303 kept searching the books, but he was listening closely, too. 

"Months. Not many." Andrews said flatly. 

"Why?" 494's voice was cold. 

"You know why." Andrews replied, amused. 

"Because of us." 494 shook himself. "Because you wanted to be like us." 

"Don't forget the leg!" Andrews almost laughed. "That bullet did a lot of damage, 494. I spent four years limping around like a horse that needed to be put out to pasture." 

"It isn't worth your life." 

"That's not your decision." 

"No. It isn't." 494 turned back to face him, straightening his shoulders. "I have other decisions to make." 529 snapped to attention as 494's eyes found his. "Did you guys set the explosives?" Andrews stiffened in shock. 

"They'll kill you if you do that," he said urgently. 

"They can try." 494 reached out and took the pistol that 529 offered him. "But I don't plan on asking them to arm wrestle." 

Andrews closed his eyes. "These guys don't feel pain." 

511 spoke up. "They'll feel even less with a 45 caliber lobotomy." He retrieved his gun from 529. 

Andrews stood abruptly. "I won't interfere with you." He held 494's gaze steadily. "But I won't help you, either. This is my team." 

494 nodded at 511, who brought the butt of his gun down hard on the back of Andrews' neck, knocking him out. "You don't have to." 

A reverberating crash signalled the end of the door restraining the soldiers. 303 turned away from the bookcase, flipping open his cell phone. 

"Time to call home," 303 said. 

* * *

Lydecker picked up on the first ring. "Lydecker," he snapped. 

_[Sir. We've found them.]_ 303 sounded faintly smug. _[We're bringing them out.]_

Lydecker breathed a soundless sigh of relief. "What's your status?" 

_[We have the information, sir.]_ 303 paused. _[And the sample.]_

Lydecker frowned at the hestitation in 303's voice. "What is it?" 

_[Well, sir. It's certainly not what we expected...]_

* * *

"We have cover." 303 snapped shut the phone. "All we have to do is get out of here, and we'll be home free." There was the sound of running footsteps growing closer in the hallway, and the crashing of doors as the soldiers searched for the missing transgenics. "Lydecker confirmed it. The technology merge evaluation is completely unsanctioned. Someone meant to give you two over." He shook his head in disbelief. "When you told us all this last night, I thought you were ready for another trip to Psy Ops, 494. But you hit the nail on the head." 

529's lips compressed. "A traitor in Manticore. I still can't believe it." 

511 was gathering paperwork and printouts together in a blur of speed, and waiting impatiently for the printer to finish spitting out the documents he needed. "At least we know it wasn't the Colonel." 

"Yeah." 494 hadn't moved from his position staring down at the prone Andrews. "He wouldn't have sent you in if he'd been behind all this." The sounds of the search were getting closer. Abruptly he dropped to one knee and pulled Andrews into a fireman's carry. "Come on. Let's get out of here." 

* * *

A heavy thud shook the door to the office. 529 threw himself against the door as it began to open, slamming it closed. He twisted the deadbolt and leaned his full weight against the shuddering wood. 511 joined him as the door rattled with the force of the body slamming against it. 

"Or not." 494 shrugged and dropped Andrews on the couch, then began running his hands along the walls of the room, searching for cracks or depressions that could indicate a hidden entrance. 303 immediately mimicked him, moving the other way around the room. 

"Uh, guys?" 511 reset himself against the door, sweat beading his forehead. "Hurry." He grunted as the door thundered again. 529 remained grimly silent, but his arms had begun to shake. 

"You want it done fast, or you want it done right?" 494 picked up the pace, fingers probing every crevice in the panelled wall. 

"Both." 511 retorted. 

"That's just like you... all or nothing." 

"Not so." 511 wiped his temple against his shoulder. "I only want it _all_." 

494 snorted. 303 probed at a promising section of wall with no luck. "Where the hell is that passage?" he muttered in frustration. "There is no way this guy didn't leave himself another way out." 

"To the left." Andrews' voice came groggily from the couch. "You... blond boy. To your left." 

"I already checked there." 303 moved obediently to his left anyway. "And my designation is 303. NOT," he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "'blond boy'." He ran his hands back over the wall. 

Andrews chuckled faintly as he sat up. "I'll keep that in mind. There!" 303 paused, then shrugged. "I can't feel anything." 

494 came to stand with him, then motioned for Andrews to join them. "Show us," he said. 

Andrews moved to the wall, rubbing his neck. "You know, you could have just asked me to come with you," he said reproachfully. "I may not feel pain, but a stiff neck is still annoying as hell." His eyes hardened. "And one of these days you're going to take a liberty our history won't get you out of." 

494 stared at him, then nodded slowly. "Please," he said with exaggerated politeness. "Show us how to open the door." 

A particularly heavy thud against the door opened it an inch or so, splintering the deadbolt right out of the door jamb. 511 and 529 pulled back, then threw their weight against the wood again, regaining the lost ground. 

"Open the fucking door already," 511 demanded, panting a little. 529 nodded emphatically. 

"It's here." Andrews pressed a corner of the panel trim, identical to all the others. There was a faint click, and the panel slid sideways. It revealed a slim opening in the wall with darkness beyond. "It's a tunnel that leads to the outside. The door on the far end has a regular handle on the inside." 494 ducked his head to look inside, then gave Andrews a skeptical look. "It's a _long_ tunnel," Andrews clarified, then smiled at 494 innocently. "I've no reason to steer you wrong, do I?" 

494 narrowed his eyes at him, then turned to scan the room. "Help me move the furniture to block the door," he instructed 303, who immediately moved to comply. 

"You could have thought of _that_ earlier." 511 muttered. 

"A lot earlier." 529 agreed. 

"I _could_ just leave you here." 494 shoved the desk across the room as the first piece in the barricade. 511 jumped out of the way just in time and swiped a forearm across his sweating forehead. 529 moved to hold the desk in place, and 494 and 511 moved as one to the floor to ceiling bookcases. 

303 dropped the couch on top of the desk. It was shortly followed by two bookcases. The small group stepped back and watched as the door continued to shudder. The pile of furniture shivered but stayed in place. 494 gave a curt nod. 

"It'll hold for long enough, I think. 303, 529, you two take point. Andrews and I will follow you. 511... you're covering our retreat." He stuck his head into the tunnel, glanced around. "We'll go through two at a time. We don't know what other doors open into this thing, and I don't want us to get caught in a crossfire situation." He glanced at Andrews, who shrugged his ignorance. 

The others nodded. 303 and 529 slipped into the tunnel, disappearing into the darkness as if they were made of shadow themselves. 511 took a position facing the door, dropping to one knee and levelling his pistol. 494 watched closely, but there was no light in the tunnel for even his enhanced vision to see. After a long minute, light flared a couple of hundred metres away, and 494 could make out 529 sliding through a doorway, followed closely by 303. 

"It's okay!" 303's voice floated to him. "We're clear." 

494 nodded curtly at Andrews, who entered the passage without comment. He turned back to 511. 

"Go." 511 said shortly, without looking at him. "I've got your back." 494 didn't move. "I'll be right on you heels, buddy. Get going." 

"All right. Give us 30 seconds, then come after us." 494 flashed a quick grin. "Don't forget to shut the door behind you." 

511 snorted rudely, his attention unwaveringly focussed on the door. 

"Come on, 494." Andrews reached through the opening and took 494's elbow gently. He tugged. "Let's go." 

494 followed him into the tunnel. The sides were barely wider than his shoulders, and he resisted the urge to duck his head. Andrews preceeded him, moving at a trot. 494 hastened after him. They were halfway through when 511 came through the door and fumbled with the mechanism to close it. His curse as he jammed his thumb was sharp in the enveloping darkness, but the door scraped closed. He started after them. 

Andrews and 494 were only a few steps from the exit when a distinctive grating noise startled them to a halt. They turned back to see a rectangle of light open suddenly a couple of metres behind 511's oncoming form, outlining him in harsh light. 494 blinked against the glare, and saw the silhouette of a gun an instant before the soldier jumped into the tunnel. 

"Down!" he shouted, drawing his own pistol in a blur. The soldier's gun spat fire, the flash illuminating him in stark relief. 511 dropped to the floor at 494's harsh command, and the shot missed him. 

Andrews pulled 494 to safety against the wall as he fired, sending his shot wild. The slide clicked empty. 511 gave a little blurt of shock as the bullet kicked up sand a foot from his head, but stayed down, covering his head with his arms. 494 cursed and dropped the empty gun. The soldier, who had crouched defensively when 494 fired, laughed. He stood confidently, raised his handgun, and began shooting. 

494 dropped to one knee, hearing a bullet whine over his head. He pulled his knife and threw it in one vicious motion. The shooting stopped. 

511 tentatively uncovered his head, and looked back over his shoulder. The hilt of 494's knife stood up from the downed soldier's throat, quivering with the force of the throw. 

"Damn." Andrews spoke up from behind 494. "You still have one hell of an arm, kid." His voice was curiously strangled. 494 regained his feet and nodded with satisfaction at the dead soldier. 511 climbed to his feet and resumed jogging towards him. 494 breathed a sigh of relief to see him unharmed. 

"It's in the genes," 494 quipped, turning back to Andrews and taking a step toward the exit. He froze. 

Andrews was leaning heavily against the wall of the tunnel. The light from the door was blocked by 303 and 529 as they responded to the gunfire. As 494 watched, a line of dark red slid slowly down Andrews' forearm. He watched in fascination as it made its way to the tip of Andrews' finger and began to drip, splattering the sandy floor. 

"You're hit!" 494 broke free of his trance. He jumped forward, catching Andrews as he started to slide down the wall. 

"So I am." Andrews blinked rapidly. "Uh... there is something really wrong here, guys." His whole body sagged. "I can't move. He paused. "And this _hurts_." His eyes closed, and he convulsed. 

"Shit!" 494 fought to control the flailing, superstrong limbs. Finally he managed to clamp Andrews' arms to his body. He dragged him into the sunlight, set him down gently. Andrews lay still, the seizure passed. 

303 dropped to his knees and examined the wounded man rapidly. 529 had the cell phone out and was speaking rapidly, his voice a low murmur. 511 came through the door and closed it behind him. It slid into place, merging invisibly with the rock wall. 511 made an impressed noise. 

"How bad is it?" 

303 was rapidly running his hands down Andrews' body, checking them frequently for blood. "He's hit twice. One on the flank, through and through. Seems ok." He pointed to a small, neat hole in Andrews' shirt, just below his collarbone and about six inches left of centre. "This one is a problem. No exit. A lot of bleeding, though." He rocked back on his heels and wiped his hands on his shirt. "That one could be trouble. Real trouble." He applied pressure to the wound with his whole body. "We need to get out of here." 

529 clapped the cell closed. The sound of a helicopter could be heard getting louder. It seemed to be approaching at a rapid pace. "That's our ride," he said with a grin. 

494 stared down at Andrews. 511 knelt on one knee beside him, taking off his jacket and placing against the side wound. "What are we going to do with him?" 511 asked 494 softly. "He won't survive the trip to Rome. It's too far." 494 didn't say anything. The chopper hove into sight. "If you want him to live, we should patch him up as best we can and leave him here. We can get that other guy's body for our sample." 

494's face was remote, and he turned to look at 511 with empty eyes as the helicopter hovered briefly before descending. The wash of air from the blades buffeted them. "Do you trust me?" 494 finally asked. 

511 just arched an eyebrow at him. 494 laughed a little, then took 511's pistol from him. He stood abruptly and strode over to the chopper. 529 and 303 were already belted in. 494 opened the door to the cockpit, and placed the barrel against the pilot's temple. 

"Get out," he said. 

The pilot blinked in shock, but a meaningful nudge from 494 got him moving. He scrambled out of the pilot's seat. 494 wrenched his arms behind him and frog marched him to the back of the helicopter. The others watched, shocked but not interfering as 494 shoved the protesting pilot into the cargo carrier and shut the door on him firmly. 

"511!" He ordered over the sound of the still-turning rotors. "Bring Andrews. Let's go." 

511's face broke into a wide grin. "Yes, sir!" He picked Andrews up gently and placed him on the floor of the passenger compartment. 529 and 303 looked at each other, then shrugged in unison. 303 released his belt and resumed pressure on Andrews' shoulder wound. 511 jumped into the pilot's seat, and 494 took the co-pilot's position. They all put on the communications helmets. 

"Well, partner," 511's voice sounded amused. "Where are we headed?" 

494 waved vaguely to their right. "Head west. I'll tell you when we get there." 

511 licked his lips to hide his smile, hauled back on the collective, and took them up. 494 turned to look into the passenger compartment. 303 gave him a thumbs up, and 529 gave him a wide grin, then pulled a flat black device out of his shirt pocket. It was featureless except for a large recessed red button. 494 returned the smile, then nodded. 

529 pressed the button. 

There was a series of muffled 'whoomps', followed by a thunderous roar. The explosion threw the helicopter forward, bucking against 511's hands on the controls. 494 laughed, looking down at the expanding cloud of dust where the compound had been. 

"Now, _that's_ an 'improvement' I can get behind." 494 slapped 511 on the shoulder. "Let's go, pal." 

* * *

Renfro stalked the length of her office with short, jerky steps. The demontstration should have been completed an hour ago. Where the _hell_ was Johanssen? 

When her encrypted cell signalled the incoming call with a terse vibration against her hip, she jumped. 

"Renfro." 

_[What game are you playing here?]_ Johanssen's voice was tinny, and shaking with rage. 

"What happened?" She cut straight to the point. 

_[Your... offerings blew up my compound!]_ Johanssen shouted. _[It's going to take me years to rebuild!]_

Renfro felt all the blood drain from her face, and she sagged against the side of her desk. Nonono... This couldn't be happening. "There's no chance for a technology merge?" 

_[Oh, the technologies are theoretically compatible.]_ He responded, scathing. _[But I don't think your bosses are interested in pursuing it. In fact, I'd call this heap of rubble a pretty clear indication of disinterest.]_

"I'll call you back." Renfro hung up, closing her phone on his enraged growl. She walked slowly and calmly back to her desk, then sat carefully in her chair. Her face was a blank mask worthy of any of the X-5s. After a long moment, she heaved a sigh and dialed her cell again. 

"It's me." 

_[Do we have a success?]_ Sandeman's voice calmed her, as it always did. 

"No. The opposite." 

_[That is unfortunate.]_ He paused. _[Have the DNA assays been completed?]_

Renfro blinked at the apparent change of subject. "Yes. They are all consistent with the previous results. None of the X5s is what we're looking for." She clenched her teeth in frustration. "They're all remarkable, but they all have junk DNA." 

_[Then we need more. Keep trying.]_ Sandeman's voice hardened. _[We're running out of time, Elizabeth. The answer to the apocalypse is in the X5s, but there aren't enough of them. We need a way to fight the Familiars.]_

"I know!" Renfro fought herself back under control. "But Manticore's moved on from the X5 series. We're up to the X8's now." She rubbed her forehead. "I wanted this to work. A combination of the X series and Johannsen's people would have been the perfect counter to their abilities." 

_[Then keep after him. You know what's at stake here.]_ His voice softened unexpectedly. _[Whatever you do, remember. We're on the side of the angels here. And the serpents are on the way.]_ He paused. _[Do whatever you have to do, Elizabeth. But we need more.]_

"Yes, sir." She saw a familiar shadow stop in front of her closed door. "I've got to go." She hung up as Lydecker thrust open the door and strode inside without knocking. 

"You bitch." Lydecker was steaming. 

"Certainly true, but hardly news, Deck. What do you want?" She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, eyeing him coldly. 

"It was you who sold out my kids to al-Nassan," he growled. 

"Prove it," she said. 

He stared at her with rage, then turned to leave. "You leave my kids alone, or I'll deal with you... personally," he gritted. 

"Oh, Deck." She called after him, then picked up a folder from her desk and extended it to him. "I just authorized a new program for your kids. You can approve the assignments and hand them over tomorrow." 

Lydecker opened the folder and scanned the contents briefly. A wash of colour came and went in his cheeks, and he slapped the folder closed with disbelief. "You want to start _breeding_ them? With _normals_?" 

"They're old enough to reproduce safely." She replied, expressionless. "We need to know if the characteristics are transferrable to offspring." 

"I won't do it." 

"What's wrong, Deck? Messing around with their minds is okay, breaking their bones, torture, no problem... but sex is off limits?" She laughed with genuine amusement. "I don't think so. And if you don't like it, you know where the door is." She smiled even wider. "I'm sure you'd live for a little while before we caught up to you." 

Lydecker glared at her impotently, hate in his eyes. He turned on his heel and left, slamming the door so hard that the frosted glass in the window cracked. Renfro's smile left her face, and she closed her eyes, the opened her cell phone again. 

"Johannsen... Calm down. I think I know a way we can still deal." 

_[This better be good. I just lost more than forty men to your last grand idea.]_ He replied bitterly. 

"You're right. But this time, it will all be in your hands." She opened another folder and stared down at the twelve designations on the page. "There's another way you can get a sample of our technology, but you're going to have to find one of them first." 

* * *

When Andrews opened his eyes, the first thought he had was that he was dead. 

He was lying on his right side, and the first sight he had was of an expanse of geen-blue water lapping peacefully against a pristine white beach. He blinked, and realized that the beach was real, and he was looking through a magnificent set of floor to ceiling windows. 

"You are awake!" A lovely, low soothing woman's voice came from behind him. He rolled to his back to look, and groaned at the pain that washed through him at the movement. He blinked in surprise. He hadn't felt pain in months, but now... his whole body throbbed with sensation. 

The woman came into his field of view, leaning over him worriedly. Her long, curly black hair and olive skin were Mediterranian, and her eyes were a soft, warm amber. "Oh, Mr. Thomas... I'm sorry! Please, lie still," she said softly in accented English. "You are not ready for such abrupt motion." 

He gave a laughing groan. "I have to agree with you." 

She smiled into his eyes, then reluctantly pulled an envelope out of her pocket. "The boys who brought you in were most insistent that you read this the instant you woke." Her mouth tightened. "Though I think it could wait, I did promise." 

"Thank you." Andrews took the envelope and held it tightly in his fist. He waited as she rearranged his pillow, then stood looking down at him. "Uh... I'm a little hungry," he said. "Am I allowed to eat?" 

She jumped a little, guiltily. "Of course! How rude of me. I'll get you something immediately." She gave a wide smile and bustled out. 

As soon as she was gone, Andrews ripped open the envelope with eager fingers. A single piece of paper lay inside. 

_You're in an abbey in Santorini,_ it read. _I thought about leaving you back there, since I knew they would patch you up. But I couldn't do it._ Andrews stopped reading to take a deep breath, then continued. _I don't want you dead, not now, not in a few months. So, I've given you another chance._ A noise at the window startled him, but it was just a puppy nosing the glass, imperiously demanding to be let inside. Andrews laughed at himself, reminded of 494. He was an arrogant little brat, too. He turned back to the letter. _It's up to you whether or not you take it. The nuns will take care of you, and won't talk._ There was a long break, and Andrews turned over the page. There was one more sentence. _I hope to see you again, Andrew Thomas._

It was signed, simply, 494. 

Andrews sighed heavily and replaced the letter in the envelope. Andrew Thomas, huh? Well... maybe it was time to find out what _he_ might be like. 

The woman came back in, a full tray in her hands. 

"Thank you," Andrews said, tucking the napkin against his chest as he sat with effort. "I'm starving." 

* * *

511 stuck his head around the corner of the door to 494's cell. 494 was sitting on his bunk, propped against the wall, frowning at the clipboard in his hands. 511 watched as 494 raised a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed thoughfully. 

"What's up?" He came fully into the room. 

494 looked up, stretching his neck against the pull of his hand. He looked tired. "Just writing up my report for the Colonel," he said. "It's slow going." 

"Hmmm." 511 dropped onto the foot of the bed. "Maybe I can help." 

494's eyes lit up, and he tossed 511 the clipboard. "I was hoping you'd offer," he said. 511's eyes narrowed as he realized he'd been had. 494 continued blithely. "You write, I'll talk." 

"Oh, _there_ 's a surprise," 511 muttered. 494 ignored him, instead turning so that his back was on his bed, his head hanging over the side, and his legs stretched up the wall. 511 looked at the report. "Slow going!? I'd guess so! You haven't even filled in your designation!" 

"X5-494," 494 replied promptly. "Didn't think I'd have to tell you that." 511 growled a little, and 494 continued hurriedly. "Theatre, Kazakhstan. Mission, 203198." 

"How do you spell that?" 

"203198?" 

"No. Kezmekistan or whatever." 

"I don't." 494 said with exagerrated patience. " _You_ do. That's why _you're_ the writer and _I'm_ the talker." 

"I am so going to get you back for this, 494." 

"Hey, don't blame me 'cause you offered to do the dirty work. Ok!" 494 looked at the ceiling for inspiration, deliberately avoiding 511's baleful look. "So... We landed in Kazakstan with no problems, made our way to beautiful downtown Astana, and find lodging at a quaint hovel called 'The Dancing Hussar'." 

511 looked up from his assiduous scribbling. "Do you want to mention Hassan?" 

"Nah. Let's go with 'the proprietor', when we get to him." 494 wriggled his toes. "We identified al-Nassan's compound, and proceeded to surveil it for a long, excruciatingly boring length of time. Then, wonder of wonders, we discover that al-Nassan is in to cage fighting. Immediately, a cunning plan crops to mind to gain access to the compound." 

511 looked at him with an expression of disgust. "Man, you write like a girl." 

"Shut up and put the pen to the paper, scribe." 

303 passed by the open door, glanced inside, and backpedalled. "Hey guys," he said. 

"303! Just who I was hoping to see," 494 greeted him with enthusiasm, swinging his legs down and sitting upright on the bed. "Have you done your report yet?" 

303 missed 511's frantic gesture. "Nope," he said. 

"Perfect!" 494 stood up and stretched. "I'll just copy yours once you're finished. Have to make sure we're all on the same page, you know." 

"Uh, huh." 303 nodded slowly. "But, you know 494, seeing as how you're almost done yours already, and seeing as how you're the one that got me into this mess of providing an explanation for where I went and why I assisted with the disabling of our relief pilot, I'm afraid that the page will be yours." He shot 511 a not un-sympathetic look. "So once 511 is done writing it for you, I'll make mine match." 303 left, whistling jauntily. 

"Bastard." 511 glared at the clipboard again. 

"Yeah," 494 agreed. "We've worked together before." 

"You know, I'm starting to regret I ever went on this mission." 511 said mournfully as he returned to writing. 

"All right..." 494 resumed his 'thinking' pose. "Once the plan was defined, We returned to the Hussar, where our transmitters obligingly hurled themselves from their positions behind our ears into a nearby sock. This rendered us incommunicado, but we bravely chose to charge ahead with the mission. X5-511 and I proceeded to diligently investigate the local establishments for willing informants. We provided proof of our extremely high worth as fighters, and subsequently were introduced to Lola Volkovich, who provided us the 'in' to al-Nassan's camp." 

"Lo-la!" 511 nodded as his pen scritched across the paper. Both smiled reminiscently. "Hey... did you remember to call her back?" 

"A gentleman does not reveal such things." 

Oh, okay." 511 told him. "Well, when I find a gentleman, I'll be sure to keep that in mind." 

A discreet cough at the door caught their attention. 529 stood there. "494," he said. "Guard Purvis wants to see you." 

494 curled to his feet. "Thanks, man." He headed out the door, slipping a small packet into his pocket. 

529 sat down beside 511, who was still writing busily. "What's that?" 

511 didn't look up. "494's mission report." 

"Really?" 529 grinned as he started to read over 511's shoulder. "Kezmekistan? Really? I thought we were in Kazakhstan!" He shrugged philosophically. "No one tells me anything." He laughed. "Extremely high worth, pffft." His eyes widened. "Lola was a drag queen?!? You can't put that in!" 

"Oh, but that's the beauty of it, 529. _I'm_ not putting it in at all. This is, after all, 494's report." 511 gave a snort of laughter. "You don't think he'll mind us jazzing it up a bit for him, do you?" 

"No...494? Not at all!" 529 curled his legs under him and bounced a little. "so... what's next?" 

"Excuse me." Lydecker growled from the doorway. "Where is 494?" 

Both of the transgenics leaped to attention. "He is with Guard Purvis, sir." 

"Ah." Lydecker eyed them suspiciously. "I need his report on al-Nassan." his eyes settled on the clipboard in 511's hand. "Is that it?" 

511 and 529 exchanged panicked looks. "Uh, No!. No sir!" 

Lydecker lifted his chin and stared at them down his nose in that terrifyingly intense way he had, as if he could read their minds if he simply willed it hard enough. 511 and 529 trembled ever so slightly, but didn't break. 

"Very well." Lydecker strode out the door. "Tell him I need it by 1700 hours, no excuses." 

"Yes, sir." They chorused before collapsing on the bed. 511 held up the clipboard, looking at the big wet spot where his hand had sweated against the paper. 

"I guess we'll just have to do a good one," he sighed. 

"Yeah." 529 nodded, weak with relief. "I'll help, buddy." 

"Ok." 511 ripped off the top sheet and began again. "Operative: X5-494. Theatre, Kezmekhistan. Mission. 203198." 

"Hey, are you sure it wasn't Kazakhstan? I could have sworn..." 

494 straightened from his position in the hollow of his neighbor's doorway and smirked. He gave a quick look anround and moved out. 511's and 529's bickering voices got fainter as he got further away, and 494's grin widened even wider as he heard 511. 

"Then _you_ write and _I_ talk!" 

* * *

Lydecker surveyed 494 as he stood at attention in the office. 494 looked tired, but otherwise healthy. "Any damage?" he asked abruptly. 

"A cracked rib, sir. Otherwise, no." 494 answered him promptly. 

Lydecker stared at him closely, trying to define the change in him. He looked no different than usual. He stood the same, answered with the same alacrity, had shown no evasiveness. But Lydecker was sure that he was holding something back, and he didn't like it. 

"I have reviewed your report, and there are some gaps, 494," he said ominously. 

"What additional information do you require, sir?" 494 was unperturbed. 

"Why did you incapacitate the pilot?" 

"The technology was very sensitive, sir, and we we had the sample with us. Since the pilot was not one of us, I made the decision to safely remove him." 

Lydecker grunted. "And what happened to the sample's container, 494?" 

"We disposed of it when we set down in Santorini to refuel, sir. The man died en route." 494 responsed coolly. "We stopped long enough to extract the sample, and dumped the body. 303 said that the bullt simply did too much damage to save him." 

"Hmmm." Lydecker moved to his desk, lifted the small device and examined it. "We haven't been able to get it to work," he mused. 

"Yes, sir." 494 nodded. "The bullet struck the implant and embedded itself in the metal. We couldn't have known that when we took it." 

"Of course not." Lydecker dropped the implant back on the desk with a metallic clink. "The mission was successful, 494. Despite the detours you and 511 chose to make from the plan. I trust that will never happen again." 

494 blinked. "Yes, sir." 

"Dismissed." 

Lydecker watched 494 leave, eyes narrowed. He'd figured out the difference. 494 had lost that hard edge of rage that had been with him for years, since Bucharest. He was more relaxed, more... content. 

That would have to be fixed. 

* * *

### Mission Debrief

 **Operative:** X5-494  
 **Mission:** X5494511-203198  
 **Theatre:** Kazakhstan

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We received our orders, flew to Oral and drove to Astana, where we took up temporary residence at 'The Dancing Hussar'. The proprietor was helpful, after a short discussion of the level of detail he was to concern himself with us.

We easily found al-Nassan's compound and performed a detailed surveillance to identify optimal methods of entering. After a significant effort, it was decided that the best method of entering the compound was to enter the local habit of cage fighting, since al-Nassan was an afficionado of the sport. It was at approximately this point that our subcutaneous transmitters extruded, leaving us incommunicado. 

X5-511 and I proceeded to diligently investigate the local establishments for willing informants. With the assistance of the proprietor of The Dancing Hussar, we arranged a demonstartion of our skills and won an introduction to Lola Volkovich. Ms. Volkovich acts as the procurer of fighters for al-Nassan, and she agreed to provide access to al-Nassan for a further demonstration and assessment. Upon returning to our quarters that morning, we found 303 and 529 waiting for us. A discussion quickly revealed that there was an underlying agenda, and we made a plan to deal with the possibility that the demonstration at al-Nassan's compound was a trap. 

The demonstration went smoothly. 511 defeated his opponent without demonstrating his enhancements. My opponents quickly revealed that their intention was to eliminate rather than disable me, and it was necessary to break cover in order to prevent that occurance. The combatants were 'revved up', demonstrating a speed and power comparable to our own. Their endurance was greater than ours, perhaps related to their apparent disregard for pain. During this demonstration, al-Nassan and his associate Johanssen indicated that they were in full awareness of the transgenic program. 

Upon escape we proceeded to al-Nassan's office, where we dicovered documentation that revealed that the bioweaponry was the soldiers themselves. al-Nassan was operating his compound as a front for his recruiting operations at the behest of the American government, under the control of Johanssen. 303 and 529 joined us at that location after planting their full complement of demolitions around the compound. 

We obtained a sample of the weaponry, eluded pursuit and met our extraction team. We relieved the pilot, destroyed the compound, and flew to our base. We made a brief stop in Santorini to refuel. 

Additional Note: The source of al-Nassan and Johanssen's knowledge on Manticore remains a mystery. More investigation in this area is requested.

 **Mission Objectives Accomplished** :  
Contact al-Nassan  
Verify existance and nature of laser-guided bioweaponry  
Obtain sample  
Destroy target compound

 **Mission Objectives Not Accomplished** :  
None

 **Mission Status** :

##  CLOSED

* * *

 _ **{One year later}**_

Andrew Thomas shifted in his seat to ease the ache in his leg. The man next to him gave him a pointed glare. Andrew just smiled and rubbed his thigh. "Old war wound," he said by way of explanation. The other man snorted and turned away. Andrew wriggled again, then gave up and stood to stretch his legs. Luckily he had an aisle seat, and the steps were handy for that purpose. 

He looked out over the expanse of what had once been beautiful Safeco Stadium, but was now a sooty, scorched shadow of its former self. It was amazing that baseball had survived the pulse, let alone the years of strife afterwards. But here it was, still going strong. 

He swung his leg a little and watched the game idly, thrusting his hands into his pockets. His fingers stubbed the ticket that had brought him here, and he drew it out to look at it. 

Mariners vs. Orioles. Good seats along the baseline, a few rows back. In the catch zone, if he was lucky. He laughed at himself, ignoring the sideways looks sent his way. Lucky. Well, he certainly qualified. He wondered when 494 was going to come tap him on the shoulder, some smartass comment on his lips. He grinned. He couldn't wait. 

On the field, the Mariners were at bat, with three men on base. The pitcher threw his third pitch in the dirt, and the coach had had enough. He walked up the steps of the dugout, gesturing to the bullpen, slapping his right arm. The assistant manager was on the phone, seconding the request, and the relief pitcher came through the doors at the end of the field and headed for the mound. 

Andrew took advantage of the lull in the action to wave down one of the hotdog and beer vendors. Of course, these days they all wore Glocks, but at least the thought was the same. He bought a sausage and a beer, and took his seat. 

A loud 'thwock' startled him into looking at the field. The catcher was waving his hand, shaking off the sting of the pitch before glaring and throwing the ball back to the pitcher. Andrew's eyes followed the ball to the pitcher's glove, then lifted to his face. 

To see 494's eyes laughing back at him. 

"Sonofabitch!" Andrew stared in shock. "On the dock... he heard me!" 494 grinned widely and turned back to the plate, digging his toe in the dirt. Andrew looked at his jersey and laughed out loud. 'Forth' read the letters across the shoulders, and a huge 94 took up the rest of the back. Andrew wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and looked around, closely this time. Across the stadium from his seat, he saw Viktor, a Mariner's cap on his head. Even as he recognized the transgenic, Viktor raised his hand with a smile. The young man pointed up at the JumboTron. Andrew looked. 

"Happy Birthday, Andrew Thomas!" it read, then switched to digitized fireworks that exploded and left behind a flaming '1'. Andrew sucked in his breath too hard and choked a little, making the scar on his neck pull. He stretched it a little, laughing in tiny snorts until the cramp eased and he could let out the huge belly laughs. When he looked again, another birthday had taken its place. 

'Huh,' he thought. 'Andrew Thomas, one year old today.' He wiped his eyes again and catalogued all the aches and pains. 'I sure feel old for such a youngster.' He looked back at 494, who had paused under the guise of drying his hands. He tossed the resin ball aside and gave Andrews another cocky grin. 'Happy birthday,' he mouthed. 

Viktor was talking rapidly into a cell phone, which he snapped closed with what looked very much like annoyance. His lips moved, and 494 looked over at him sharply, then nodded slightly and turned back to the plate. His next three pitches were brilliant; fastballs on the lower inside corner, every pitcher's dream. The batter looked in disbelief at the third perfect pitch and threw his bat in disgust. Third out. 

494 trotted off the field, stopping briefly to speak to the manager, stripping out of his jersey as he did so. The manager argued loudly, but 494 just handed him the shirt and shrugged in that indifferent way that Andrew had always found so irritating. He turned and looked across the field, raising his hand to his old friend. Andrew waved back. "Thanks," he said out loud, knowing that even if 494 couldn't hear him, he would see his lips form the words. "I can't think of a better present." 494 nodded and disappeared down the tunnel to the showers. When Andrews looked, he was unsurprised to find Viktor gone, too. 

* * *

494 pulled up to the gates of the Manticore facility and glanced at 511 as he waited for the guards to open up. "Did you like the game?" he asked with a grin. 

511 slouched deeper in his seat, sulking. "I would have liked it better if _I'd_ gotten to play, too." 

494 smirked. "Next time," he said. "What can I say? The man asked for the Orioles, and he asked for me." He swatted at 511's Mariner's cap. 511 batted his hand away irritably. 

"He didn't know me, then." 

494 laughed and drove through the now open gates. "Did they say what they wanted?" he asked again. 

"Nah, just that we're being sent out." 

494's eyes shuttered and his face stilled. "Us, as in together?" 

"Yeah." 511 gave him a sidelong glance. "You okay with that?" 

494 pulled into a parking space and stepped on the brake with unnecessary force. 511 unbuckled and shook his head as he got out of the car. "So... no, then." 

"I work alone." 494 gritted as they headed for the barracks. 

"Hey, it's not _me_ you need to convince." 511 held up his hands defensively. 

"I know." 494 blew out his breath. "I just hate this head-games stuff." 

"Yeah." 511 agreed easily. "On the other hand, you could have worse company!" He disappeared into his barrack, leaving 494 staring after him. 

"Yeah, bro," he muttered. "That's what I'm worried about." 

* * *

Lydecker motioned for 494 to enter as he saw his shadow darken the office doorway. 494 came in and snapped to attention. "494, reporting as ordered, sir." 

"At ease," Lydecker replied, lifting a blue plastic folder from his desk and holding it out. "Your mission brief." 

494 took it. "Sir, this is a joint mission?" 

Lydecker sighed. "Yes. I will have 511 assign any additional resources you'll require." 494's lips tightened minutely, but Lydecker was pleased to see no other sign of his annoyance. "Read the brief, soldier." 

494 opened the brief and began to read. He froze, eyes raising to Lydecker's. "That's right, 494." Lydecker nodded curtly. "You're going to Uzbekistan." 

-30-

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> The character Andrews is borrowed with permission from Era's "Hostile Territory".


End file.
